

Class P Z ' / 

Book, . m . s i7 


Copiglit N°. . Li O 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





LUCILE ON THE HEIGHTS 


I 











Forth from the bushes straight toward them stag- 
gered the musician. ( Page 138.) 


LUCILE 

ON THE HEIGHTS 


BY 

ELIZABETH M. DUFFIELD 

n 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
THELMA GOOCH * 


NEW YORK 

GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY 



Copyright, 1918, by 
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY V 


JUN 18 1918 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


©Cl. A 4 9 7 8 0 9 ^ 


•Hr -*•“ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Lucky Penny ..... i 


II 

Hurrah for the Mountains 


13 

III 

Brandenberg’s Best 



24 

IV 

Reckless Driving . 



37 

V 

The “Queer” House . 



5 i 

VI 

A Sign in the Dark . 



61 

VII 

Nightmare Dispelled . 



75 

VIII 

The Gypsy Boy 



85 

IX 

“A Little Bit of Heaven” 



98 

X 

Lucile’s Discovery 



no 

XI 

Weird Music .... 



124 

XII 

More Mystery .... 



139 

XIII 

The Gypsy Trail . 



149 

XIV 

The Curtain Lifts . 



160 

XV 

Jeddie in a New Role 



171 

XVI 

The Bear Feasts . 



190 

XVII 

Peter Bingle .... 



208 

XVIII 

The Wail of the Violin 



222 


IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX A Dangerous Project . . . 239 

XX Reinforcement 251 

XXI Through the Night .... 261 

XXII Snatched from Captivity . . 267 

XXIII Around the Fire ..... 275 

XXIV On the Heights . . . >. . 290 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Forth from the Bushes Straight Toward 
them Staggered the Musician (See page 


138) Frontipiece 

Facing page 

“Is He Killed ?” cried Lucile ... 88 

“It's a Bear !” 204 


They had Pulled Aside a Great Deal 

of Intervening Shrubbery . . .292 



LUCILE ON THE HEIGHTS 












LUCILE ON THE HEIGHTS 

CHAPTER I 


LUCKY PENNY 

“Are we all here?” 

Pretty Mrs. Wescott gazed about her distract- 
edly at the laughing, chattering groups of young 
folks gathered on the station platform. 

There were a great many of them, — little girls, 
big girls, pretty girls, plain girls, girls of every 
kind and every type, yet all united in their exu- 
berant youthfulness and the wondrous spirit of 
adventure. 

There were boys, too, many of them, also in 
varied stages of adolescence — the younger noisy 
and frankly excited, the older striving valiantly, 
albeit unsuccessfully to smother their enthusiasm 
beneath a cloak of elaborate unconcern more be- 
fitting their maturer years. 

“Are we all here?” demanded Mrs. Wescott 
again, and at the repetition of the question her 
1 


2 Lucile on the Heights 

husband turned to her with a boyish laugh. 

“There's one thing we forgot, Nellie," he said, 
looking fondly down upon his pretty young wife. 
“But that one thing is apt to prove disastrous. 
How are we going to keep track of this army of 
youngsters without a roll call — ” 

“Roll call," cried a pretty, fair-haired young 
person, the center of an animated group near 
them. “Who said that awful word? I thought 
we were going to forget school for one long, 
delicious summer and here it is, thrust right under 
our very noses by a person who calls himself our 
friend. Roll call, indeed — " and she sniffed, in- 
dignantly. 

“I was afraid of it," sighed Philip Payton, 
mournfully, adding, in a tone of gentle reproach, 
“I know how hard it is to live up to an ideal, 
but I hardly expected you to backslide so soon." 

Phil had improved a great deal since that event- 
ful summer at Tanike — taller of stature, broader 
of shoulder with an alert carriage and a sense of 
humor always present, he was immensely popular 
among his mates, both girls and boys and many of 


Lucky Penny 3 

the former wondered at his unswerving devotion 
to Jessie — she of the bright hair and scathing 
tongue. 

“Why, he really enjoys being snubbed,” one of 
them had remarked, upon the occasion of a neigh- 
borhood dance given at Jessie’s home. “Why, if 
a girl tries to be nice to him he actually looks 
bored.” 

While this statement was undoubtedly an ex- 
aggeration of the facts, still it must be admitted 
that young Philip bore up not only remarkably 
well beneath the weight of sarcasm heaped upon 
him but, in the vernacular of the day, invariably 
and cheerfully “came back for more.” 

So now at his enigmatic reference to backslid- 
ing, Jessie looked at him in mild surprise. 

“Behold,” she declared, turning to the interested 
group about her, “we have with us to-day the 
Reverend Billy Sunday in the guise of Philip 
Payton. In what, kind sir, have I back slid — 
slidden — which is it — ” 

“Why,” Phil explained, patiently, “I overheard 
you telling some of the younger camp fire mem- 


4 Lucile on the Heights 

bers that since this summer was to be devoted to 
a fuller development of the camp fire ideals — ” 

“I know all that,” said Jessie, tapping an im- 
patient foot upon the platform, “but please come 
to the point — what have I done?” 

“Only declared your intention of breaking one 
of its foremost laws,” said Phil, sententiously. 
“The camp fire expressly commands you to pursue 
knowledge — wherever you are and whoever you 
are, any time and all the time — ” 

“Oh, you goose,” cried Jessie, clapping her 
hands over her ears, while the others laughed 
happily. “And all this comes from an innocent 
little remark about a roll call.” 

“Where’s Lucile?” 

A plump little person bustled up to Mr. and 
Mrs. Wescott and at the question all eyes were 
turned in their direction.” 

“She was here just a minute ago,” the anxious 
bearer of ill tidings continued, “but you know 
how she is — never staying in the same place two 
seconds, and now she is gone.” 

“Oh, dear, I knew it,” groaned Jessie. “Some 


Lucky Penny 5 

one always turns up missing at the last minute — 
but I never expected it of Lucy. It’s almost train 
time, too.” 

“Don’t worry,” Phil reassured her. “Lucile is 
a madcap, of course, but she and Jack between 
them will have sense enough not to miss the train. 
We have five minutes left yet, anyway.” 

“Five minutes,” groaned Evelyn, for she it was 
indeed, plump of person, fair of hair and happily 
good humored, save in her frequent and some- 
times peppery bouts with Jessie — who had 
thrown the upsetting facts like a bomb into the 
midst of their contentment. “Only five minutes 
and all our folks gathering to say good-bye. We 
can’t go without Lucy!” 

“We won’t have to,” said Mrs. Wescott, calmly, 
then added, with a sharp ring in her voice as a 
general movement was made to scatter and find 
the runaways. “Don’t you move an inch, any one 
of you.” 

The young people paused on the verge of de- 
sertion, looking from their guardian to the rapidly 
increasing crowds of their relatives and friends, 
uncertain, perplexed. 


6 Lucile on the Heights 

Evelyn had been right — they could not go 
without Lucile. Lacking her vivid personality the 
summer would be “Hamlet” — with Hamlet left 
out! But if the train came and she were not 
there — 

“It is bad enough,” Mrs. Wescott was explain- 
ing, “to lose two of you, but I don’t intend to take 
the risk of losing the rest. Lucile will be here in 
time and we can’t better matters any by trying to 
find her. Above all — don’t get excited!” 

However, the last admonition might have been 
addressed to the empty air for all the effect it had 
upon the girls and boys. Flushed faces, heated 
voices and a running fire of comment attested 
amply to their state of mind — and it must be ad- 
mitted that Mrs. Wescott herself was far from 
feeling the calm conviction she had so admirably 
voiced. 

She turned to her husband with a little despair- 
ing gesture and he offered a practical suggestion. 

“I see Mr. Payton and Mr. Sanderson coming 
down the avenue. Perhaps the father of the 
young lady can give a clue to her whereabouts.” 


7 


Lucky Penny 

“Oh, he wont know any more than the rest of 
us — no one can keep track of Lucile,” she said, 
conviction in her tones, adding nervously, “but 
do go — he might be able to help us. Oh, Jack — ” 

He gave her a sunny, reassuring smile and 
hurried off to intercept Mr. Payton. 

At that moment, the raucous sound of an engine 
whistle smote their ears like the knell of doom 
and the great locomotive thundered around the 
curve. 

A murmur of pure dismay rose from the as- 
sembled young folks — one might have thought by 
their faces that a trying ordeal, rather than a 
summer full of fun, lay before them. 

Phil ground his hands savagely into his pockets 
and muttered something inaudible. 

Jessie, surprised as always to find herself rely- 
ing completely upon Phil in the case of emergency, 
looked up anxiously into his set young face. 

“Can't we find her some way?” she asked, feel- 
ing actually frightened, then added, staunchly, “if 
Lucy misses the train, I’ll miss it too. Oh, Phil, 
could anything have happened to her?” 


8 Lucile on the Heights 

For answer Phil pointed up the avenue, relief 
banishing the anxiety from his face. 

“There they come/’ he cried, while they crowded 
about him, following the direction of his gaze. 
“Gee, they will have to run some if they expect 
to make the train.” 

Everyone agreed with him — that their tense 
young faces testified. It was very evident that 
the two runaways would have to break all records 
if they intended to win the race. 

The locomotive had grumbled to a noisy stand- 
still, people had begun to pour into the cavernous 
depths of the cars and the two graceful, racing 
young figures were still a block away. 

“We’ll make ’em wait,” said Jessie, grimly, as 
she was half helped, half pushed into the car. “If 
I had a pistol, I’d hold up the engineer.” 

Luckily, it was not necessary to resort to such 
extreme measures. Lucile and Jack, very much 
out of breath, but laughing triumphantly, were 
handed through the crowd upon the platform and 
pushed unceremoniously up the steps and into the 


car. 


Lucky Penny 9 

Jessie sprang at her friend and caught her in a 
rapturous embrace. 

“Lucy, how could you,” she was beginning, 
when that cyclonic young person dragged her over 
to the window and poked her pretty head through 
the opening. 

“Good-bye, Dad,” she called, in a musical voice. 
“Tell Mother I left Mary that new recipe for 
brown bread and tell her not to worry about 
Peter — Mary has promised to take care of him. 
Good-bye — good-bye !” 

The train moved off amid a very snow storm of 
white handkerchiefs from the car windows and an 
answering flurry from the waving, shouting people 
upon the platform. 

Flushed, excited faces were withdrawn from the 
windows and a general accusing rush was made 
upon Lucile and her runaway partner. 

“Why did you do it?” Jessie was inquiring, 
imperiously. “You had us all nearly worried to 
death. What did you do it for?” 

Lucile’s laughing, vivid face assumed an expres- 
sion of injured innocence. 


10 


Lucile on the Heights 


‘Just hear her,” she appealed to the young 
fellow at her side, who was looking down at her 
with an expression of whimsical amusement. 
“Anybody would think we had been committing a 
crime, instead of saving them a whole summer full 
of bad luck. Do you really want to know what it 
was we risked losing the train for?’” 

“Of course,” they answered impatiently, while 
even Mrs. Wescott’s expression of disapproval re- 
laxed into a tolerant smile. 

No one could long resist the naivete of Lucile’s 
assumption that all her youthful escapades were 
excusable because of the undeniable innocence of 
the motives underlying them. Lucile was a law 
unto herself, but a remarkably enchanting one. 

“What was it?” they asked again with more 
impatience. 

Lucile opened the little bag she carried, fumbled 
a moment therein, then held up for their curious 
inspection a small round copper object, set in a 
frame of silver. 

“Superstition is not one of my many faults,” 
she assured them, gravely. “But without this 


Lucky Penny 11 

lucky penny the summer would have been ruined. 
I'm sure of it!” 

For a moment they gazed blankly at the little 
object which had been the cause of so much dis- 
turbance, then broke into a ripple of laughter. 

“Just the same,” said Jessie, eyeing her friend 
shrewdly, “you needn’t tell me you risked miss- 
ing the train for a lucky penny. We all know 
you’re foolish but that would be too much.” 

“Thanks,” said Lucile, whimsically. “What it 
is to have a reputation.” 

“Jack, you tell us,” said Jessie, turning in 
despair to her cousin. 

“Why,” said the latter, smiling down at Lucile, 
“it seems Lucile had taken down the canary’s cage 
to say good-bye to him and in her excitement had 
neglected to replace the animal, I mean bird, on 
his hook.” 

“Oh,” said Evelyn, primly. “How cruel — I 
thought they only did that to fish.” 

“No, you are wrong,” said Phil, with a grin, 
“I’ve seen them do it to actors on their first 


night.” 


12 Lucile on the Heights 

“Oh, do be quiet,” cried Jessie, disdainfully 
adding as she turned to Jack, “and you went 
back just to put the canary’s cage on a hook?” 

“Well, you see,” Jack explained, looking around 
at the expectant group, “there is a cat at Lucile’s 
who has an unnatural appetite — especially for 
birds — ” 

“And she was afraid,” chuckled Phil, “that 
the cat and Peter,” Teter’ being the bird, “might 
merge into one.” 

Lucile laughed up at them demurely. 

“Exactly,” she said, adding whimsically, 
“you’ve no idea what a fancy that cat has taken 
to Peter!” 


CHAPTER II 


HURRAH FOR THE MOUNTAINS 

“Where else in the world would you rather 
be?” 

The question was addressed to Lucile but Phil 
took it up, quickly, answering without a moment’s 
hesitation — 

“In the dining car.” 

Two pairs of girlish eyes were focused intently 
upon him for an instant, then dropped disdain- 
fully. 

“Snubbed,” murmured Phil, whereupon Jessie 
giggled and Lucile laughed up into Jack’s eyes. 

“At ninety, Phil will be the same,” she said, 
adding whimsically, “it makes me feel bad to 
think how much time I’ve wasted trying to reform 
him. Such earnest effort deserves some sort of 
reward.” 

“Gaze upon me,” Phil retorted, with character- 
istic modesty. “Gaze upon the perfect specimen of 

13 


14 Lucile on the Heights 

manhood I represent and receive your reward. 
Why I — ” 

“Hush, Phil,” Jessie spoke in the tone of one 
soothing a fractious child. “You are spoiling 
the view. It looks so calm and peaceful — that 
cow, for instance — ” 

“Flattery can no further go,” cried Phil, resent- 
fully. “To prefer the contemplation of a cow — 
to me — ” 

“Hush, dear, hush,” said Jessie, in the same 
calm voice. “You shall have your dinner soon 
and then you’ll feel better. What time is it, Jack?” 

Laughingly, Jack produced his watch and pro- 
nounced the hour to be high noon, lacking about 
fifteen minutes. 

“You haven’t answered my question, yet,” he 
said in a lower tone to Lucile. “Where else 
would you rather be?” 

Lucile drew a long breath and looked about her 
dreamily. The four young people were seated on 
the observation platform where they could enjoy 
the air, the sunshine, the beauty of the racing land- 
scape better than in the heated atmosphere of the 


car. 


Hurrah for the Mountains 15 

And now, Lucile’s eyes, returning from their 
lazy survey met Jack’s ardent gaze and suddenly 
dropped. 

“There’s just one place,” she replied, with a 
catch in her breath, “where I’d rather be.” 

“And that?” he queried, without taking his 
eyes from her averted face. 

“A mountain lake,” she answered dreamily. 
“With a background of dense woodland, with 
little white tents dotting its banks — ” 

“And a moon,” he added, as she paused, lost 
in the contemplation of the picture she had 
conjured up. “There must be a moon.” 

“Naturally — and stars — and the glow of a 
camp fire in the distance — ” 

“And the smell of frying fish,” said Phil, add- 
ing, in defiance of the withering scorn in Jessie’s 
eyes. “Ah, what could be more beautiful, more 
romantic, more inspiring than the smell of frying 
fish. Words cannot describe — ” 

“Then why waste them?” Jessie cut in, exas- 
perated, while Jack and Lucile laughed delightedly. 
“You’re ever so much more attractive on the rare 


occasions when you’re not talking.” 


16 Lucile on the Heights 

“Just the same,” Lucile twinkled. “Fm not so 
sure he wasn’t inspired that time, Jessie, dear. 
Think how empty our mountain scene would be 
without the smell of frying fish. Then you can 
appreciate the real poetry of Phil’s idea.” 

“Thanks, sweet sister,” said Phil, adding, rue- 
fully, “Fm not so sure the mountain scene would 
be the only empty thing, either.” 

Even Jessie dimpled at this and it was some 
minutes before Jack thought to ask, “now that 
we have a romantic setting for our story, let’s go 
on.” 

Lucile opened her pretty eyes wide. 

“How can we?” she said. “The setting is the 
only part we know anything about. The story 
will have to tell itself. Oh, Jack,” she lifted her 
arms above her head and breathed deep of the 
rushing air. “I can’t seem to bring myself down 
to earth at all. The whole wonderful scheme 
seems like a dream.” 

“Yes, doesn’t it?” Jessie took her up. “To think 
that we could get them all together — dear little 
Margaret and Marion and all of them. Oh. it’s 


Hurrah for the Mountains IT 

too altogether good to be true. And Mr. Wes- 
cott was dear to leave his business and come with 
us to keep the boys in order — goodness knows 
they need it badly enough,” this last with a little 
mischievous glance into the eyes of the very self- 
possessed young man at her side. 

“Well, I happen to know one of them that 
doesn’t,” he remarked urbanely, adding, with a 
significant glance at her impish face, “no one per- 
son can be expected to serve two masters.” 

Jessie flushed as she did often in these days 
in her conversations with Phil, started to speak, 
thought better of it, and remained silent, her gaze 
fixed upon the racing countryside. 

Lucile and Jack seemed also to have touched 
upon too personal subjects and the silence re- 
mained unbroken between them. 

These four young people had for years been so 
intimately, so closely associated that silences were 
as frequent and as well understood between them 
as speech could be. 

Suddenly Lucile spoke, plucking the idea, as it 
were, from mid air. 


18 Lucile on the Heights 

“Have you heard whether Marion’s brother will 
be able to leave his practice long enough to join 
us in the mountains? Last I heard, he was rather 
uncertain.” 

“Is yet, I guess,” said Jessie, shortly. “Nobody 
seems to know much about him — even Marion. 
I’m not lying awake nights worrying about him.” 

“Good,” said Phil, heartily. “I’m the only one 
PH let you do that for — ” 

“As if I would,” Jessie was beginning when 
Lucile interrupted with a thoughtful question. 

“Why do you dislike him, dear? He has al- 
ways seemed to me a very likable sort of fellow 
— good looking and good natured. All the girls 
like him.” 

“Perhaps that’s why I don’t.” The tone sounded 
unreasonably vindictive and Lucile and the two 
boys looked at her in surprise. “And perhaps,” 
she added, meaningly, “it’s simply because I’m 
so very fond of little Margaret Stillman.” 

Lucile gave a start and looked at her keenly. 
So Jessie had noticed it too — well, it wasn’t 
strange. 


Hurrah for the Mountains 19 

Since that memorable moment the summer be- 
fore when David Cathcart, Marion’s brother and 
the hero of the hour, had staggered up the beach, 
a bedraggled but unmistakably heroic figure, little 
Margaret Stillman had just as unmistakably given 
her heart into his keeping. 

During the year that had followed, Margaret 
had naively and unconsciously revealed herself in 
a hundred different ways to the affectionate and 
frankly interested girls, yet the silence upon the 
subject had remained unbroken until the moment. 

David Cathcart himself seemed to be the only 
one entirely oblivious of the existing state of af- 
fairs. Several times during the preceding winter 
he had come to Burleigh with Marion to attend 
some little social function given by the girls but 
had never shown the slightest preference for Mar- 
garet — but on the contrary, had devoted himself 
almost entirely to Lucile — as much, that is, as Jack 
would permit. 

Consequently, the girls had worried not a little 
and, having instituted themselves, ever since their 
first meeting with Margaret, a volunteer body- 


20 Lucile on the Heights 

guard to protect the little rich girl from all hurts 
as far as was in their power, had secretly con- 
cocted all sorts of plans to throw the two to- 
gether and thus assure happiness for their pet 
protege. 

This object had been at the root of their invi- 
tation to the young lawyer to spend as much of the 
summer as he could spare from his rapidly grow- 
ing law practice at- their camp in the mountains. 

It was of Margaret, Lucile was so intently think- 
ing, yet Jack found himself wondering if, after all, 
she might not care for that young upstart lawyer. 
At the thought he clenched his hands savagely at 
his side. 

“Oh, well,” cried Lucile, and there was a little 
joyous tremor in her voice that somehow reas- 
sured Jack, “who cares whether he comes or not. 
A whole glorious camp fire summer is before us 
and nothing else matters. Oh, I’m happy, happy!” 

“And think of the chance it gives us,” Jessie 
took her up eagerly. “Why it’s just exactly as we 
dreamed it — only better. Do you remember how 
we used to plan for a great big reunion of all our 


Hurrah for the Mountains 21 

camp fire girls, Lucy? And it never seemed pos- 
sible till this summer.” 

“Do I remember ?” Lucile’s eyes were shining. 
“Why, when I think how the club has grown and 
realize that we were actually the founders of it, I 
feel like crowing. It’s been a long time since that 
first summer of ours at Mayaro, yet it seems to me 
I can remember every little incident as though it 
happened yesterday. If this summer is only half 
as wonderful — ” 

“Well, I like that,” Phil had been silent for an 
unusually long time — both he and Jack had been 
contentedly studying the lovely picture the two 
pretty, excited girls made for them and till now 
both had been reluctant to break the spell. How- 
ever, Phil could never let a challenge pass un- 
noticed. 

“I like that,” he continued. “How can you com- 
pare the two summers when in one you had not 
the inspiration of our company and in the other 
you have? The difference is self-evident.” 

“That’s why we have our doubts about this sum- 
mer,” said Jessie, serenely. “Goodness knows, we 
did our best to discourage you.” 


22 Lucile on the Heights 

“All bluff,” said Phil, grinning. “You knew 
you couldn’t do it.” 

Lucile chuckled. “The only time we came any- 
where near it,” she remarked, wickedly, “was 
when Mr. Wescott suggested that if we camped 
too far from town it would be hard to get sup- 
plies. I’d give a dollar for one glimpse of your 
face as it looked then.” 

Phil rubbed his countenance ruefully. 

“I never knew my looks were an asset,” he said, 
to which Jessie promptly and cheerfully replied, 
“they aren’t.” 

“Never mind, old man,” Jack laughed as, in his 
chagrin, Phil whistled long and dolefully. “At 
that you’re better off than I. No one ever offered 
two cents for a look at me — let alone a dollar.” 

“Oh, I’d give two cents any time,” said Lucile, 
generously and was rewarded by a look that sent 
her blood racing. “That is almost any time,” she 
added, hastily. 

“Hello, you people !” As Marion Cathcart stood 
in the doorway, smiling round at them she was the 
very picture of happy, hearty girlhood. Certainly 


Hurrah for the Mountains 23 

the camp fire had worked wonders for her. “Mrs. 
Wescott wants to know if you don’t intend to eat 
to-day.” 

Phil groaned, lifted Jessie to her feet and gently 
but very firmly propelled her through the doorway. 

“And I always,” he was saying in a tone of 
protest, “have given Mrs. Westcott credit for be- 
ing a lady of unusual intelligence. How could I 
have made such a mistake?” 

Lucile and Jack, alone on the platform, laughed 
into each other’s eyes. , 

“He wouldn’t be half as dear if he weren’t 
so foolish.” Phil’s sister commented cryptically. 

“Does one have to be foolish to qualify?” Jack 
countered whimsically. 

“Not always,” she answered, then added, wick- 
edly as they started through the car. “But then, 
Jack, you know you are terribly silly sometimes!” 

If they had only been alone then — but Lucile 
had seen to that! 


CHAPTER III 


Brandenburg’s best 

“Better get your things together, folks.” 

Mr. Jack Wescott, looking scarcely a day older 
than he had five years ago on the memorable oc- 
casion when he had so informally and unexpected- 
ly introduced himself to our girls, paused to smile 
down upon them. 

At his announcement several pairs of bright 
eyes were focused upon him in surprise. 

“Are we as nearly there as that?” queried 
Evelyn, breathlessly. “Jessie, what did you do 
with my things?” 

“Goodness,” retorted Jessie, eyeing her empty 
candy box resentfully, “I’m the one to ask that. 
Where did you put all my candies?” 

“Where did you suppose I’d put ’em?” Evelyn 
returned, complacently. “In the hatrack?” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Jessie, adding 
with a chuckle, “somebody dropped a chocolate 
24 


Brandenburg’s Best 25 

in the old maid’s seat over there and she nearly- 
sat on it.” 

“Yes, and if it had been a snake, she couldn’t 
have looked more disgusted,” Marjorie added, 
twinkling. 

“You notice she ate it just the same when no 
one was looking,” Evelyn put in with a chuckle. 
“Maybe the poor old thing thought it would sweet- 
en her up some.” 

“Is that why you ate so many?” Jessie queried 
innocently, and almost had a book thrown at her. 

At this propitious minute Lucile came flying 
through the car and, flinging herself upon the arm 
of the seat, laughed up at Mr. Wescott. 

“There’s a very pretty lady,” she twinkled, “ask- 
ing for you in the other car, Mr. Jack Wescott. 
If I were you I wouldn’t keep her waiting — she’s 
in a terrible hurry for something.’ 

“Thanks for the advice, Miss Mischief,” he 
mocked her. “As usual, it is well worth follow- 
ing.” 

Lucile watched his broad back out of the car, 
then turned to her companions excitedly. 


26 Lucile on the Heights 

“Girls,” she cried, “there’s a garage in Bran- 
denburg and we’re going to hire automobiles to 
carry us and our luggage to the lake. Think of 
it — an automobile ride of twenty miles or more, 
straight into the heart of the mountains. Oh, I 
can’t sit still.” 

“But we couldn’t ride all the way — ” 

“Of course not. I understand there’s a rocky 
pass — isn’t it romantic — leading from the road 
straight up the mountain side. Then there’s the 
lake and goodness knows what besides. Good- 
bye, I’m off to help our guardian. She’s having 
no end of trouble trying to keep track of every- 
body.” 

The girls looked after her pretty figure in its 
trim tan travelling suit, then turned to each other 
smiling. 

“Isn’t that just like Lucy,” Evelyn commented, 
fondly. “She never seems to realize how awfully 
hard it is to keep track of her. And isn’t she 
pretty?” 

“She gets prettier all the time,” said Margaret 
generously, although a wistful expression crept 


Brandenburg’s Best 27 

into her eyes. “I don’t wonder everybody loves 
her — they can’t help it.” 

At this moment an effective end was put to the 
conversation by the arrival, in force, of the male 
members of the party. They all carried suitcases 
and looked decidedly warm and uncomfortable. 

“Say,” murmured Phil, putting his bag down 
and mopping his fevered brow with a large silk 
handkerchief, “make believe I won’t be glad to 
escape from this oven. It must be a hundred 
and ten in the shade.” 

“Never mind,” said Jessie, complacently, “just 
think of a nice cool mountain lake with trees all 
around — ” 

“If you don’t get your things ready,” Phil re- v 
torted unexpectedly, “you won’t have a chance 
at that nice cool mountain lake. Do you happen 
to know that in just eleven and one quarter min- 
utes by my chronometer we arrive?” 

The girls cried out in mingled dismay and de- 
light and for some time thereafter confusion 
reigned. 

When, exactly ten minutes later, the train drew 


28 Lucile on the Heights 

in at the little mountain station of Brandenburg, 
depositing a very stream of expectant, happy-eyed 
young people, one could more fully appreciate 
Lucile’s elation at being the founder of so splendid 
and thriving an organization. 

The girls had long looked forward to just such 
a summer as this, a summer when all the members 
of the camp fire could get together for one glori- 
ous season in the mountains, when the lofty aims 
and high ideals of the organization could be 
brought to a fuller fruition. 

It had been Mrs. Wescott’s idea in broaching 
the plan to chaperone the girls for a limited period 
— not more than a month or six weeks at the out- 
side, but Phil and Jack had promptly and despot- 
ically altered the plans. 

“Why in the world couldn’t they go as well as 
the girls? Wasn’t camping primarily a fellow’s 
sport, anyway and besides — suppose way up there 
in the mountains they should meet with a bear or 
something — what do girls know about shooting 
bears — ” and so forth until, in complete weariness, 
Mrs. Wescott had been forced to listen to them 
and even promise to think it over. 


Brandenburg’s Best 29 

That she had thought it over to a successful 
conclusion had been proven when, upon one event- 
ful day, Lucile had received a letter from her, 
announcing that the plan was not, after all, im- 
possible. 

Mr. Wescott, sympathizing strongly in anything 
that interested the boys, very suddenly decided that 
a vacation was a necessity and volunteered to head 
the boys’ camp, if they were really in earnest 
about the thing. 

When an hour or so later Lucile, having called 
a special meeting, read the welcome news to a 
hilarious audience, even Mr. Wescott would have 
had no further doubt as to the sincerity and en- 
thusiasm of their desire for the expedition. 

So, it had been settled. All the boys who had 
sisters among the camp fire girls had been asked 
as a matter of course and a few others, chums of 
Phil’s among the older boys, had been admitted to 
the magic circle. 

There were only four, Jack, Jim, Dave and 
Ray — Jack’s cousin — who were not residents of 
Burleigh. Jack, who had finished his junior year 


30 Lucile on the Heights 

at college with honors, had heartily agreed with 
his parents in their laudible surmise that a rest 
was just what he needed to “set him up” for his 
senior year — and so had signed his name to the 
list of the lucky. 

Jim, who, as my readers may remember, had 
been studying engineering under the excellent 
guidance of young Mr. Wescott, was anxiously 
looking forward to joining them for the duration 
of his three weeks vacation. As for Dave, well, 
as Jessie had said, no one, least of all himself, 
knew whether he would be able to leave his work. 
With this one exception, the invitations had been 
answered heartily and unanimously in the affirma- 
tive. 

“Oh, look at the old bus!” 

It was Phil who uttered the irrelevant comment. 
His gaze was fixed in awed and fervent wonder 
upon the aged chariot that was being backed halt- 
ingly and with much coughing protest from the 
rickety building over which hung the antique sign 
— “Brandenburg Garage.” 

Jessie, following the direction of his gaze, gig- 
gled hysterically. 


Brandenburg’s Best 31 

“It is absurd,” she agreed. “If things gain in 
value in proportion to their age — ” 

“The thing ought to be worth a million,” 
grinned Phil. “Hi there, Jack — do they really 
expect us to ride in that jitney?” 

“As long as it holds out,” Jack returned. “If 
what I hear is true that antiquated apology for a 
gasoline car is the creme de la creme of the whole 
outfit. Only the elite of Brandenburg are allowed 
to ride in it.” 

“Oh, heavens,” groaned Phil. “And we have 
come two hundred miles for this.” 

“Phil Payton,” Lucile rebuked him, striving to 
look severe, “you know very well, this is not 
what we came for. And anyway, it’s going to be 
tremendously exciting. Just imagine stalling the 
engine in the middle of a mountain and sliding 
down backwards — it’s almost sure to happen — ” 

“Well, if that’s your idea of a good time,” Phil 
was beginning when Mr. Wescott commanded at- 
tention. 

“We have commandeered two cars,” he said, 
“such as they are — for ourselves and two more 


32 Lucile on the Heights 

for the luggage, tents and other paraphernalia. 
Even at that, I’m afraid it will take a good deal 
of squeezing to accommodate you all — but as we 
have already exhausted the resources of the 
Brandenburg Garage that can’t be helped. Come 
on, all of you — let’s get busy.” 

Amid a great deal of laughter and happy con- 
fusion the packing was effected and the halting, 
sputtering machines were started off for their long 
run over mountain roads. 

However, it was necessary to pass through the 
little mountain town before reaching the open road 
and the young folks were greatly interested by the 
quaintness and picturesqueness of the place. 

“Isn’t it darling?” Lucile cried, her eyes spark- 
ling. “Why they have a little bit of everything,” 
as they passed the pretty little hotel, set far back 
from the road and surrounded by immense shade 
trees. “It looks like the places you read about 
in the travel magazines.” 

“Lucy, look.” Evelyn pointed excitedly through 
the trees. “Am I crazy, or is that a moving picture 
place?” 


Brandenburg’s Best 33 

“Both,” said Phil, wickedly. “However,” he 
added, studying the queer little building with in- 
terest, “that is something of a poser. After this, 
I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they had set up 
a nickelette at the north pole for the benefit of 
the Eskimos. Gee, the world has gone movie- 
mad.” 

“But, the kind of pictures you would see there,” 
said Jack, adding, with a twinkle, “camping so far 
from civilization has its advantages. Say, look 
at that view, folks — now we are seeing some- 
thing !” 

They had swung off into the open road and 
before them the narrow ribbon streamed away, 
densely bordered on either side, rising upward, 
ever upward till it seemed to merge with the 
gleaming azure brilliance of the sky. 

Spicy, pungent odors assailed them from every 
side, birds serenaded them joyously, the rushing 
winds cooled their faces and the spicy mountain 
air went to their heads like wine. 

“Oh, breathed Evelyn, devoutly. “If we only 
had a hundred miles to go instead of twenty — ” 


34 Lucile on the Heights 

“Huh,” grunted Phil, the practical. “If we 
manage twenty miles in this old jitney we’ll be 
luckier than we deserve. Of course, it’s fine now, 
but just wait till we get our first break-down.” 

“Phil, stop croaking,” Lucile demanded. “Noth- 
ing has happened yet — ” 

“But soon,” finished Phil, as they bumped amid 
an ominous rattling of ancient machinery over an 
uneven place in the road. “Say, I bet our chauf- 
feur is the best little gambler in gay Brandenburg 
— the way he’s taking chances with this old hack! 
Whew, look at that hill ahead of us — hold your 
seats and keep your hats, folks — ” 

The girls giggled but found it very wise to fol- 
low his advice as the car flew and rattled and 
bumped down the steep incline. 

As they reached the bottom the reckless chauf- 
feur whirled them round a bend in the road and 
very nearly precipitated an appalling accident. 

The driver of a wagon coming toward them 
pulled his horse sharply to one side, giving voice 
meanwhile to unprintable exclamations — the car 
skidded uncertainly on the very edge of a hun- 


Brandenburg’s Best 85 

dred foot drop, then rallied and regained the mid- 
dle of the road. 

It speaks well for the girls and boys that not 
one of them uttered an exclamation — only the 
whiteness of their faces as they turned to each 
other testified to the terror of the moment. In- 
stinctively the boys had thrown themselves before 
the girls as though to receive the shock of impact 
first. 

“Lucile,” whispered Jack, leaning toward her 
anxiously, “were you hurt — you look pale — Lu- 
cile—” 

Lucile shook her head and tried to smile, though 
her lips were still trembling. 

“Not a bit,” she assured him, bravely. “Only 
a little frightened — that valley looked so terribly 
far off.” 

“Hang the fellow,” Phil was growling viciously, 
as he gently patted Jessie’s hand. “What does 
he think he’s doing, anyway — running a marathon? 
I’ve a good mind to knock him into the middle of 
next week and take charge of the party myself. 
Gee, that was a close shave.” 


36 Lucile on the Heights 

“You said it,” Jad* agreed. “I don’t mind a 
little honest danger, but when it comes to sui- 
cide — ” 

“He’s slowing down, now,” Evelyn interrupted 
in a quavering voice. “Perhaps he’s decided to go 
more carefully the rest of the way.” 

“More likely he’s run out of gasoline,” said 
Phil, gloomily. “I’ve had a premonition all along 
that it would happen. Didn’t I tell you?” 

This last exclamation was caused by the sudden 
and complete stopping of the machine. The chauf- 
feur turned a dolorous and bleary old face to them 
and to the others of the party, who had come up 
and were waiting in some surprise and uneasiness 
for an explanation. 

“ ’Tain’t no use,” he said with an air of finality. 
“The durned thing’s broke and ye’ll heve ter wait 
while I go back to town for help.” 


CHAPTER IV 


RECKLESS DRIVING 

For a moment no one stirred. All were gazing 
in dismay upon the bucolic and decidedly unattract- 
ive countenance of the man who had made this 
startling statement. 

“You mean,” said Mr. Wescott, coming around 
to the front of the car, “that you will have to 
borrow one of the other machines, go way back 
to Brandenburg, get the damaged parts and then 
keep us waiting while you repair the thing? What 
time do you propose to get us to the lake?” 

The indifferent Mr. Simms shrugged his shoul- 
ders carelessly and gazed speculatively up at the 
sky before replying. 

“Can’t be helped,” he said, then. “The car’s 
broke an’ it’s got to be fixed — that is, ’less you’re 
cal’latin’ to walk t’other fifteen miles. ’Tain’t no 
other way that I knows on.” 

Mr. Wescott stomped up and down the road 

37 


38 Lucile on the Heights 

for a moment, then broke forth impatiently. 

“Very well, be as quick as you can with it, 
then. And please keep in mind the very important 
fact that we have no time to waste!” 

The occupants of the second car jumped out 
upon the road and after a great many attempts 
during which the machine nearly turned a somer- 
sault down the side of the mountain, Silas Simms 
succeeded in turning it and heading it back toward 
Brandenburg. 

“I might,” remarked Phil as they started off to 
explore the woods in different directions, resolved 
to make the best of their more or less indefinite 
stay, “I might, if I had a mean disposition, re- 
mark that I told you so. From the moment I 
laid eyes on that old bug — ” 

“Don't you suppose,” said Jessie, in exaspera- 
tion, “that we all felt the same way? Goodness, I 
was so shaken up by that near collision it seems 
good to be on solid ground again.” 

Lucile chuckled. “Did you see the driver's face 
as we went by?” she asked, dimpling. “It didn’t 
seem at all funny to me then.” 


Reckless Driving 39 

“What particularly impressed me,” Jack re- 
marked, “was his wonderful command of the Eng- 
lish language. For a while there, the air was 
indigo.” 

“Gee, and I missed it,” said Phil, dolefully, add- 
ing with a sudden ray of hope, “I don’t suppose 
you could repeat some of it, Jack — ” 

“No,” he couldn’t,” said Lucile, collapsing on a 
stone near the roadway and looking up at them 
laughingly. “Whatever other faults Jack has, he 
is usually a gentleman — pardon me, I mean always, 
of course.” 

“Much better,” said Jack, quizzically. “I wish 
you wouldn’t make so many slips. People might 
begin to think after a while there was a reason for 
them.” 

“To change the subject,” said Phil, flinging him- 
self upon the ground munching a bit of winter- 
green root, “I shouldn’t wonder if the weather 
were getting ready to add to our misfortunes.” 

They looked quickly up at the leaden sky, then 
turned to each other with the resignation born of 
despair. Jessie sat down beside Lucile and put an 
arm about her. 


40 Lucile on the Heights 

“If it rains,” she said, decidedly, “I will give 
up. Automobile wrecked, fifteen miles from camp, 
hungry as a wolf — ” 

“Or pack of ’em,” suggested Phil. 

“And a deluge threatening. Could anything be 
worse ?” 

“Lots,” said Lucile, complacently brushing a 
spider from the skirt of her dress. “Suppose we 
hati been a quarter of an inch nearer the edge of 
the road when the car skidded on the curve — ” 

“Lucy, don’t—” 

Lucile laughed whimsically. 

“You asked me,” she said. “Besides, if we be- 
lieve that a poor beginning makes a good end- 
ing—” 

“We ought to end up by finding a couple of 
treasures or something,” Jack finished, adding, ir- 
relevantly, “Gad, Phil you were right — it is going 
to rain.” 

As he spoke they espied Evelyn running toward 
them, breathless and excited. 

“Mrs. Wescott wants you,” she said. ‘W e’re 
going to find some place of shelter before the 


Reckless Driving 41 

storm breaks. Oh, hurry, they say these moun- 
tain storms are terrible.” 

As they made their way over roots and under- 
growth toward the road, Jack slipped his arm 
through Lucile’s and held her back a little. 

“You’re not dressed for a storm, Lucile,” he 
said. “If you should get cold up here, there’s no 
telling whether we’ll be able to get a doctor in 
forsaken Brandenburg.” 

“The chances are against it,” she laughed, then 
looking up and finding him quite earnest she 
added, “You’re a dear to worry about me, Jack, 
but really you mustn’t. I’ve always been most 
unromantically healthy.” 

For a moment he studied the rosy cheek and 
the pretty way her dark hair curled, then said, 
irrelevantly, “Why don’t you ever look at me any 
more ?” 

Lucile glanced up quickly, started to protest, 
then laughed mischievously. 

“Why, I never knew I didn’t,” she said whim- 
sically. “Being modest, you probably wouldn’t be- 
lieve it, Jack, but — there are worse things to look 
at 1” 


42 Lucile on the Heights 

She curtseyed to him merrily and before he 
could protest was off fleetfoot to join the others. 

It might have comforted him somewhat had he 
guessed that deep down in her heart his accusation 
was to some extent absurdly true. 

“But now,” she decided, with a vigorous little 
shake of her head, “now that he has noticed it, all 
such foolishness must stop — of course.” 

And the decision and her excitement made her 
so amazingly pretty that even in their preoccupa- 
tion her friends turned to look at her twice. 
However, as time and storm wait for no man, they 
soon forgot other considerations in the pressing 
business of the moment. 

Mr. and Mrs. Wescott were giving directions 
fast and furiously and the girls and boys were 
scattering like bees to execute them. 

If there were any place in the vicinity that 
might afford them shelter of any kind, that place, 
to quote Mr. Wescott, must be found without a 
minute’s delay. The three rustic chauffeurs had 
been severally questioned but had offered little 
encouragement. 


Reckless Driving 43 

One of them had mentioned a “queer” house 
three or four miles along the road but that three 
or four miles could never be traversed in time to 
avoid the storm. If they could find some shelter 
near by — a barn, a hut, an overturned wagon, any- 
thing would do. And so the boys had rushed off 
in different directions upon a very vague but 
nevertheless engrossing errand. 

At the end of five minutes, Mr. Wescott, accord- 
ing to a prearranged signal, blew his whistle and 
the company once more reassembled in the middle 
of the road, uncertain what course to follow. 

“Not a thing in sight,” was the verdict and 
Mr. Wescott turned with decision to the remain- 
ing automobiles. 

“We’ll have to pack in some way,” he said, 
then turned to the three men who were standing 
in loose-limbed attitude against three convenient 
trees. 

“Suppose you take us to that house you men- 
tioned. I don’t care how queer it may be as long 
as it’s water-tight. Come on, girls, jump in — and 
boys, I guess you will have to make yourselves 


44 Lucile on the Heights 

more or less miserable on the running boards.’’ 

They clambered in happily and before they 
fairly got settled the rattling machines were trav- 
elling at breakneck speed over the uneven road. 

“Hold on,” cried Lucile, as they swerved peril- 
ously around a sharp turn. “Goodness, if we 
don’t get killed this time it will be just luck. 
Boys, don’t let them shake you off.” 

“They couldn’t pry me loose with a lever,” 
said Jack, resentfully. “Not while Phil’s resting 
his two hundred pounds on my left foot. Try the 
right one, Phil — you’ll find it a lot more com- 
fortable.” 

“I’m just passing it on,” grinned Phil. “I bet 
Barney Davis weighs three hundred without his 
overcoat. Gee, he added, with a chuckle, “I’d 
hate to be one of those guys just now who hang 
around the beaches and offer to guess your weight 
for a nickel. I’d guess old Barney’s at about 
five hundred and lose his money. Say, that was 
some jolt.” 

“Oh,” cried Jessie, who was sitting upon Lu- 
cile’s lap and striving unsuccessfully to retain her 


Reckless Driving 45 

balance and her dignity at the same time, “I 
expect every minute to look up and see you boys 
sitting in the middle of the road.” 

“In view of the rather steep descent at our 
right,” said Jack, cheerfully regarding a drop of 
nearly two hundred feet straight down the side 
of the mountain, “I should say you would be 
mighty lucky to see us sitting in the road. Gad, 
that would be a pretty fall.” 

The girls cried out and Lucile commanded him 
with a little shudder “not to say such things.” 

“It’s raining,” cried Jessie, gazing in dismay 
at a big glistening splash on the back of her hand. 
“I’ve felt half a dozen drops and there’s a great 
big one on the tip of Evelyn’s nose. Looks like 
a dew drop in the heart of a rose. 

“If you are trying,” said Evelyn, “to be poetical, 
all right — but if you mean to imply that my nose 
is red — ” 

“Not at all,” denied Jessie, while the others 
laughed at Evelyn’s ferocious expression. “The 
rose I had in mind was of an exquisite pure 
white variety, with petals of velvet and a heart 
of gold — ” 


! 


46 Lucile on the Heights 

“Jessie Sanderson/ 1 cried the exasperated 
Evelyn, “if you don’t stop waving your arms 
around like the inmate of an insane asylum — ” 

“Don’t blame her for acting natural,” murmured 
Phil, while Jessie glared resentfully, and Evelyn 
went on unheeding. 

“I’ll just drop Marjorie over the side of the 
mountain and send you after her. A beautiful 
blush rose with a heart of gold — indeed!” 

Marjorie Hanlan, who had been with our girls 
during the eventful summer at the seaside the year 
before and who was now reposing none too light- 
ly upon poor Evelyn’s devoted knee, looked 
alarmed. 

“For goodness’ sake, Jessie,” she exclaimed, 
“stop acting natural. Just say something nice and 
sensible and calm her down. She’s apt to carry 
out her threat and at this point it would be too 
easy to have any fun in it. Oh dear, we’re going 
to get soaked.” 

“There are some advantages in being the under 
dog, Evelyn,” Lucile chuckled. “At least they 
catch the rain first.” 


Reckless Driving 47 

“Oh, so that’s the idea.” Jessie stood up indig- 
nantly but the next moment was thrown back upon 
Lucile with a force that was both undignified and 
disconcerting — a fact that was attested to by un- 
sympathetic laughter from the boys. 

“If you know when you’re well off, young lady,” 
Phil warned her, “you’ll stay put. These roads 
are not like our roads in Burleigh. Say, fellows, 
turn up your collars — we’re running into a flood!” 

And indeed, from that time on, they forgot to 
joke in the effort to protect themselves in some 
measure from the fury of the downpour. 

The owners of the Brandenburg Garage had 
evidently considered tops of any sort on their cars 
as mere frivolous accessories which could not, 
under any circumstances be made to serve a use- 
ful purpose. 

The girls would have given a great deal for the 
protection of one now but — what was the use of 
grumbling? One could not expect all the comforts 
of city life in the mountains. Besides, they had 
come way out here to go camping and that meant 
that occasional hardships and mishaps were to be 


48 Lucile on the Heights 

taken philosophically and made the best of. 
Grumbling never did any good — one was always 
sure to remember and feel sorry when the sun 
came out. 

So, when Lucile looked over at Evelyn there 
was a wry little smile on her lips. 

“If rain water improves the complexion,” she 
said, “we ought to all be Cleopatras or Helens of 
Troy by the time we reach that house, wherever 
it is.” 

“Huh,” grunted Jessie, refusing to be comforted. 
“I may look beautiful, but I must say I don’t feel 
it. Goodness, boys, you’re a sight.” 

“Thanks,” grinned Phil, twisting about so he 
could look at her, “same to you — and many of 
them. If we don’t get to that confounded place 
soon, Jet, you’ll turn into a little puddle and run 
away.” 

“I feel like one,” said Jessie, mournfully, for- 
getting in her misery to resent his remark. “I 
couldn’t be wetter if I stayed out here a week.” 

Jack roused himself from an absorbed contem- 
plation of a little dark curl that lay against Lu- 


Reckless Driving 49 

cile’s wet cheek and waxed suddenly indignant. 

“What did that old hayseed mean by saying it 
was only three or four miles to the house he 
spoke of? We’ve ridden at least six since then 
and we’re still going. How about it, old man?” 
this last was delivered in a raised voice to the 
stooped back of the chauffeur in front. The 
weather is all that keeps this ride from being a 
thing of joy forever. Is it much farther?” 

“ ’Bout a mile,” said the man, indifferently. 
“Then I don’t know’s you can break in.” 

The girls looked at each other in consternation. 

“Not get in,” Evelyn was beginning when Phil 
interrupted impatiently. 

“Don’t let that worry you,” he said, grimly. 
“If they don’t let us in, we’ll break in, that’s all. 
Here’s where we fellows take our first lesson in 
the art of housebreaking. Just watch our smoke.” 

“More slang,” Lucile was beginning, but Jessie 
broke in fervently. 

“Don’t stop him, Lucy,” she begged, adding, 
ecstatically, “smoke — just think of the visions 
evoked by that one short word. Why it makes 


50 


Lucile on the Heights 


you think of a fire and warmth and dry clo — ” 

“And frying fish/’ finished Phil, drolly. “I 
told you you’d see the poetry in that idea some- 
time.” 

“Poetry,” cried Jessie, rapturously, “why, it’s 
more than poetic — it’s heavenly. Forgive me, 
Phil, I’ll never laugh at you again.” 

“Is that a promise?” said Phil, eagerly. 

Before she could answer, Marjorie gave a 
bounce that drew a groan from Evelyn, the long 
suffering, and cried out — 

“Look — there’s a house — to the left through the 
trees. See, it’s got a white roof, green shutters, 
and — everything.” 

In her excitement she bounced again, causing 
Evelyn to protest volubly but her voice was 
drowned in a shout of relief as the car swung 
out of the main road and up the narrow drive that 
led to the house. 

“Say, I’m glad to be here,” said Phil, as he 
jumped from the running board to the ground at 
great peril to his neck. “Come on, Jack — here’s 
where we try our second-story job!” 


CHAPTER V 


THE “QUEER” HOUSE 

The house was a quaint little place in itself 
but its drawn blinds and general appearance of 
non-habitation availed little in raising the rather 
bedraggled spirits of the girls. 

They followed the boys slowly and waited while 
they pulled the old door bell and listened for some 
response to its discordant jangling within the 
house. 

None came, however and by the time the other 
members of the party had arrived, surrounding 
them with eager questionings, they were ready 
to do almost anything to gain admittance. 

“What shall we do,” cried Lucile, puckering 
her pretty forehead and turning, as ever to her 
guardian for advice. “The boys want to break 
in one of the windows but if anybody should live 
here—” 


51 


52 Lucile on the Heights 

“It would look rather queer,” agreed Mrs. 
Wescott, smiling. “However, anything is better 
than this. What do you say, Jack?” 

“Oh, let the boys do their worst,” voted Mr. 
Jack Wescott, impulsively. “I don’t think the 
sternest judge in the county would convict us 
under the circumstances. Come, boys, let’s try 
the doors and windows first.” 

With a whoop of delight the boys dashed off, 
resolved to find some way of forcing an entrance. 

The girls and their guardian, left alone on the 
porch, looked at each other, smiled, then began 
to laugh merrily. 

“Oh, dear,” gasped Evelyn, “I wish I could get 
a picture of us now. I’d entitle it 'Wandering 
Waifs in the Woodland Wilds’ or something 
equally euphonious.” 

“U-what?” queried Marjorie. “I don’t mind 
being called a waif, but that other thing — ” 

“Can’t blame me,” retorted Evelyn. “I caught 
it from Jessie. She’s always going off half- 
cocked that way.” 

“A ray of hope in the darkness,” said 


The “Queer” House 


53 


Jessie, prayerfully. “Just when I had begun 
to despair of ever teaching you anything.” 

“Step right this way, ladies.” The door 
opened and Phil, wearing his best smile, stood be- 
fore them. “Everything ready for the entertain- 
ment of motor parties — especially those caught in 
the rain. Accommodations of the very best — 
steam heat, electric light, running water, fresh 
headed chicken, parsley on the ear — ” 

“Phil Payton, get out of the way.” 

Jessie made a dash for the doorway and the 
other girls, released from the spell of his oratory, 
followed. 

What was their surprise to find themselves in 
a small, but well furnished hall, with two low- 
ceiled rooms, also well furnished, leading off from 
either side. The owners, whoever they might be, 
had evidently left the place very recently for there 
was not a speck of dust anywhere. 

The girls stopped uncertainly and looked at 
their guardian, while the rest of the boys, realiz- 
ing that an entrance had been effected, crowded in 
behind them. 


54s Lucile on the Heights 

“What’s up?” cried one of them. “Get out of 
the way, girls — we want to see the show,” and 
they wedged in, excitedly exclaiming over their 
good luck. 

“Say, this is ripping.” 

“Couldn’t have provided a better half-way house 
myself.” 

These and other comments made such a deafen- 
ing uproar that Mr. Wescott was forced to blow 
his whistle to make himself heard. 

“First of all,” he said, when some sort of order 
had been gained, “I might suggest that we ad- 
join to the kitchen somewhere in the rear where 
we won’t ruin everything with our dripping 
clothes.” 

As they obediently followed the leader, Lucile 
grasped Jessie’s hand, while her eyes shone with 
excitement. 

“This is an adventure,” she said. “I feel like 
Goldylocks breaking into the house of the three 
bears. If only the bears don’t come home, we may 
get out of it alive. If they do — ” 

“We’ll kill ’em and eat ’em for supper,” said 
Jessie, ferociously. “They say bear steaks make 


The “Queer” House 55 

fine eating and oh, Lucy, dear — I never was so 
hungry in my life before! If they don’t feed me 
soon — ” 

“Well, here’s the kitchen,” said Lucile, practi- 
cally. “And where there’s a kitchen there’s usu- 
ally something to eat — ” 

“Now listen, all of you,” Mr. Wescott was 
saying, “and stop prying into that pantry, Phil, 
until I’ve had my say.” 

Phil started, released the knob of the door and 
looked sheepish while the rest laughed heartlessly 
at his chagrin. 

“I wasn’t doing it for myself,” he murmured, 
“but when a young and beautiful damsel calls for 
food — ” 

“I never heard of any old damsel,” Jessie was 
beginning, dryly, when Mr. Wescott, with a twin- 
kle in his eye, rapped for order. 

“I can fully sympathize with your appetite, 
Phil,” he remarked, “not having any too delicate 
a one myself, so, for all our sakes, I’ll shorten my 
speech to a simple warning. Remember, that since 
circumstances force us to use someone else’s be- 


56 Lucile on the Heights 

longings we must be doubly careful not to harm 
them in any way. Moreover, if anything happens 
to the place, we shall have to make restitution in 
money. That’s all — I think I can leave the rest 
to your good sense. Just a minute,” he added, 
as, with a whoop of approval the boys had begun 
to scatter, “we must first of all try to light some 
sort of a fire — wet clothes are not noted for com- 
fort. After that, Phil — we’ll look into the pan- 
try — ” this time there was more than approval in 
the shout that greeted his remark — there was 
pure and unalloyed joy. 

‘The boys are not going to have all the fun,” 
cried Lucile, with a shake of her wet clothes that 
sent a little shower of spray all about her. “Camp 
fire girls are not supposed to sit and look on. Be- 
sides, there isn’t a boy in the world can make a 
fire as well as we can.” 

“Hear, hear,” cried Jack, returning from an 
intimate survey of the woodshed. “Hand over 
that soap box, Phil, will you? Lucile wants to 
make a suffrage speech.” 

Phil straightened up and looked dismayed. 


The “Queer” House 


57 

“Don’t do it, Lucy/’ he entreated. “Wait till 
we’ve had our supper — we can stand it better. 
Hooray, fellows, here’s wood — barrels of it. Now 
for the classiest fire you ever saw in your life!” 

“Come on, girls,” cried Lucile, patting her 
pretty curls into place and joining in the fray with 
a will. “We’ll have a hand in this or die in the 
attempt.” 

Laughing, squealing, ejaculating, the girls fol- 
lowed her lead and they travelled back and forth 
from the old-fashioned living room to the kitchen 
until Jack laughingly held up his hand for atten- 
tion. 

“Say, you folks,” he cried, “we have wood 
enough here to build fires every day for a month. 
I vote we stop lugging and light it.” 

The vote was carried unanimously, but as Jack 
and Phil stooped to arrange the wood in the 
grate, Lucile intervened. 

“Let me light it,” she pleaded, eagerly. “Phil 
never would believe that I could make a fire and 
I’d like to prove it to him. Please, I never had 
any witnesses, before.” 


58 Lucile on the Heights 

The boys looked up at the pretty, flushed, eager 
face and smiled at each other quizzically. 

“Better let her do it, Jack,” said Phil, indul* 
gently. “She can’t do any more than burn the 
house down and since it doesn’t belong to us, we 
should worry.” 

“Such remarks,” said Lucile, dropping on her 
knees and beginning to arrange the wood skill- 
fully, “we treat with the scorn they deserve.” 

“Oof, crushed,” laughed Phil, sitting back on 
his heels and regarding his pretty sister fondly. 
“It’s funny how we poor worms get stepped on 
and then come back for more, isn’t it, Jack? What 
is it you wish, sweet sister? Matches — yes, 
matches are occasionally needed to light a fire. 
You wish some, or you wish that I would not 
talk so much? Both? Good — you shall have 
them,” and so on while the onlookers laughed at 
his nonsense and admired Lucile’s deftness and 
skill in the lighting of the fire. 

She looked so pretty kneeling there that Jack 
forgot his own uncomfortable position and re- 
mained in it, watching the curls turn copper in 


The “Queer” House 59 

the fire light and the brightness of her eyes long 
after the first small flame had grown into a 
splendid blaze. 

Lucile leaned back and regarded the dancing, 
crackling flames with naive delight. 

“Now who says I can’t build a fire?” she chal- 
lenged and little Margaret rushed forward to throw 
a loving arm about her shoulders. 

“You do everything beautifully, Lucy, dear,” 
she said “and whoever says you’re not the dearest 
thing in the world will have to reckon with me.” 

She gazed about her defiantly and Phil drew 
back in affright. 

“Don’t look at me, Margaret Stillman,” he 
cried. “What have I ever done that I should be 
threatened thus?” 

“Don’t begin on the list of his sins, Margaret,” 
begged Jessie. “It would take all night — and I’m 
so hungry.” 

“Gee,” said Phil, starting to his feet in pathetic 
astonishment, “and it took a girl to remind me 
of it.” 

Laughingly they turned to follow him but as 


60 Lucile on the Heights 

Lucile started to rise, Jack gently but firmly set 
her back upon the hearth again. 

“You are to sit here, little Miss Suffragette,” 
he said, calmly, “until you get your clothes dry 
and until you are warmed through and through.” 

“By order of the Grand High Mogul,” said 
Lucile, laughing. “You call me a Suffragette, 
Jack — and then treat me as though I weren’t. 
What’s the answer?” 

“That you’re not,” said Jack, laughing quiz- 
zically. “That’s why you are going to sit there 
and take care of yourself while we get you some- 
thing to eat.” 

Before she could retort, he had stalked from the 
room, leaving her alone. 

With a wistful, wondering little smile on her 
lips, she turned again to the fire she had made. 


CHAPTER VI 

A SIGN IN THE DARK 

In the pantry the boys found everything they 
needed for the heartiest and merriest of suppers. 
There was cold ham and plenty of flour which 
Mrs. Wescott and the girls turned into the most 
appetizing of biscuits, quantities of cheese and, 
wonder of wonders, two freshly made huckleberry 
pies. 

The house and its contents mystified them as it 
did their chaperones. People must live there, must 
have been there recently — yet there was not a 
sign of life about the place. 

“It makes me feel positively creepy,” Jessie 
confided, as she helped herself to more ham. 
“Here we are in somebody’s house, eating some- 
body’s food and we haven’t the slightest idea who 
that somebody is. Oh, but this ham is good!” 

“Suppose,” said Evelyn, complacently breaking 
her sixth biscuit, “the owner should be a fanatic 
61 


62 Lucile on the Heights 

or a crazy man. Fve wanted all my life to see a 
lunatic.” 

“Is she complimenting us?” queried Phil, wink- 
ing at Jack and catching three biscuits, one after 
another with admirable sangfroid. “Or is she 
merely trying to be sarcastic?” 

“She was looking at you when she spoke,” re- 
marked Jessie, “so of course it must have been 
sarcasm. Pass me the jelly, Marj — you needn’t 
keep it all to yourself.” 

“Well, I don’t care,” said Marjorie, reverting 
to the former topic, “if only it isn’t haunted — I 
have no earthly use for ghosts.” 

“Nor heavenly ones either,” laughed Lucile, 
adding, as she attacked the huckleberry pie with 
fervor, “ghosts have never worried me since 
that night at Tanike when we laid the spirit of 
the haunted house. I never was so frightened 
in my life.” 

Jack looked across at her thoughtfully — he was 
wondering if she remembered as well as he what 
happened after they had found the ghost. 

“That was some night,” he agreed, aloud. “And 


A Sign in the Dark 63 

from the noise the wind is making, I shouldn’t 
wonder if we were to meet its rival. It’s mighty 
lucky for us we found this place.” 

As they listened to the shrilling of the wind 
and the driving fury of the storm, they heartily 
agreed with him. However, they were warm and 
dry, their voracious young appetites were satis- 
fied and the storm had a soothing, rather than a 
disturbing effect upon them. 

It was only when, an hour later, their guardian 
suggested that they repair to the upper regions to 
see what sleeping accommodations they could find 
that the girls began to feel a little restless and 
uneasy. 

“If our guardian hadn’t said it was all right,” 
Jessie confided, slipping an arm about Lucile as 
they ascended the stairs together, “I’d feel like 
a sneak. Breaking into strangers’ houses, eating 
up their food and using their beds isn’t as big a 
joke as it seems. Suppose the people should come 
home in the middle of the night?” 

Lucile chuckled. “They’d have the surprise of 
their lives, that’s all,” she answerd, adding, more 


64 


Lucile on the Heights 

seriously, “there really isn’t a bit of harm in it, 
Jessie, dear. We’re going to leave money enough! 
to make up for whatever we’ve used and a little 
note of explanation, telling how it happened. 
Goodness,” she finished, her old merriment bub- 
bling over, “whenever I’m tempted to feel funny 
about being here, I think how much funnier I’d 
feel if we weren’t here.” 

“Now you’re saying something,” remarked Phil, 
genially, as he and Jack passed them, taking the 
stairs two steps at a time. “I’d rather be shot 
for a perfectly honest burglar than drowned in a 
ditch. How about it, Jack?” 

It was one of Phil’s characteristics, that he al- 
ways appealed to someone else for confirmation of 
his absurdities. Now, though they listened, the 
girls could not hear Jack’s answer. He was in 
one of the small, low-ceilinged front rooms, help- 
ing Mr. Wescott to light an old oil lamp he had 
found there. 

That every room boasted a lamp of this sort they 
soon discovered and the weird light furnished by 
their yellow, flickering flames had a depressing 


A Sign in the Dark 65 

effect upon the general atmosphere of the place. 

Lucile, Evelyn, Jessie, Marjorie and Margaret 
were given the rambling, many-cornered old room 
at the back of the house. They were standing 
together, regarding the one big bed and narrow 
couch rather ruefully when their guardian joined 
them. 

“What’s the matter, girls?” she queried in her 
cheerful, matter-of-fact tones. “Wondering how 
four of you are going to manage in one bed? I 
admit it is something of a problem.” 

Lucile slipped an arm about her guardian and 
laughed softly. 

“It will be all right for the ones in the middle,” 
she said, “but whoever sleeps on the end is apt to 
find herself on the floor before morning.” 

Mrs. Wescott considered a moment, then called 
out to her husband who was passing the door with 
a lamp perched on his head after the manner of 
the Grecian water carriers. 

At his wife’s summons he stopped and peered in 
at the door looking so ridiculous as he stood there, 
arms raised and an expression of innocent inquiry 


66 Lucile on the Heights 

in his eyes that the girls broke into gales of mer- 
riment. 

“If you will put down that lamp,” said his wife, 
severely, though her eyes twinkled, “and try to 
look sensible, I’d like to ask your advice.” 

“Anything you say, my dear,” he acquiesced, 
disposing of the lamp and assuming an expression 
of extreme severity. “Now, if I look quite sen- 
sible enough — although it is my duty to remind 
you that looks are not everything — I am at your 
service. Fire away !” 

So his pretty wife “fired” — the result being an 
extension of the bed by means of two chairs, an 
ironing board and some extra comfortables and 
blankets, brought to light by systematic rummag- 
ing. This, together with the disconery that two 
of the couches in the other rooms were capable 
of expansion, added to the general satisfaction. 

“And we have room for one more,” cried Lu- 
cile, delightedly. “Let Marion stay with us, will 
you, guardian? She always seems so glad to.” 

So Marion came to them, happy in the knowL 
edge that she would be near Lucile. For, to her 


A Sign in the Dark 67 

as to little Margaret Stillman, Lucile had meant 
all that was good and fine and lovable in a girl. 
She was and always had been their idol and in 
every possible way they had striven to be like her. 

So now when Marion, bright-eyed and almost 
pretty, rushed in upon them her first words as 
well as her look, were for Lucile. 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she said. “I don’t even 
mind the storm now I’m with you, Lucy.” 

“Goodness, she doesn’t seem to see the rest of 
us,” said Evelyn, ruefully, precipitating her plump 
little person upon the bed with a sigh of relief. 
“Never mind, Marion, you’ll realize we’re around 
when we all try to sleep in one bed together. 
Wonder who gets the ironing board?” 

“Since you are blessed with more avoirdupois 
than the rest of us,” remarked Marjorie, lazily re- 
moving the pins from her dark hair, “I guess it’s 
up to you, Evelyn, dear.” 

“Well,” said Evelyn, resignedly, “I don’t mind 
the ironing board if you’ll only keep Jessie away 
from me. She ate ten biscuits • and experience 
whispers that a restless night awaits whoever 


68 Lucile on the Heights 

sleeps next to her. Oh, Lucy, are you ready so 
soon ?” 

Lucile, with her dark curls falling over her 
white gown, roses in her cheeks and the light of 
adventure in her eyes, had curled up on one cor- 
ner of the bed and was smiling dreamily. 

“No, I’m not ready/’ she retorted. “I only look 
that way. Oh, girls,” she added, sitting up straight 
and clasping her hands about her knees, “I have 
a premonition that something wonderful is going 
to happen for all of us this summer. I feel as 
though we were running right into adventure — ” 

“Well, we’ll be lucky if we don’t run into 
trouble or jail,” said Jessie, drolly. “We’ve been 
trying our hardest to do both since we started.” 

“Oh, you’d spoil any good prophecy, Jessie,” 
said Marion, putting an arm about Lucile. “Any- 
body would think you heard the sheriff at the 
door.” 

Jessie shivered. “Goodness,” she said, in mock 
alarm, “don’t joke about anything so serious.” 

“Well, there’s one comfort,” chuckled Lucile, 
as she slipped beneath the covers, “if he comes 


A Sign in the Dark 69 

to-night he’ll get mighty wet coming. Hurry up 
girls and put out the light. Fm nearly dead for 
sleep. ,, 

For the early part of the night they slept heav- 
ily, the deep healthy sleep of youth. It must have 
been nearly three o’clock when, for no apparent 
reason, Lucile opened her eyes and stared wide- 
eyed into the dark. 

The storm had almost spent itselfi; save for 
occasional gusts of wind the night was calm, yet 
Lucile was terrified, with the inexplicable, creep- 
ing terror of one in a nightmare. 

Something had been in the room, something 
had been near her, had bent over her, almost 
touched her — ! 

She lay still as though turned to stone, while 
her strained, quivering nerves waited flinchingly 
for some sound, some confirmation of her weird 
impression. She tried to speak, tried to touch 
Jessie, who lay beside her, but if her life had 
depended upon it she could not have moved a 
muscle. She was hypnotized, impotent, as com- 
pletely under the spell of unreasoning terror as 


70 Lucile on the Heights 

though she were indeed living through a night- 
mare. 

Then suddenly — she heard it! A sigh, a deep- 
drawn, quivering sigh, then the sound of descend- 
ing footsteps on the stairs. 

Either her trembling or the slight noise in the 
hall below awoke Jessie for at that moment she 
sat up in bed and cried in a loud whisper, “Lucy, 
what is it? What’s the matter?” 

A loud crash from the hall below, followed by 
the sound of running feet, of the opening and 
closing of a door, answered her question. 

Lucile, released at last from the spell that had 
bound her, sprang from the bed while Jessie 
tumbled out beside her, quivering in every nerve. 

The other girls were awake now, in fact the 
whole house seemed to be. The boys could be 
heard calling excitedly to one another and the next 
minute the door was flung open and their guardian 
herself rushed in upon them. 

“Girls, are you all here?” she cried, and they 
could see by the light of a lantern from the hall 
how white her face was. “Is anybody missing? 
No, you’re all here.” 


A Sign in the Dark 71 

She went out into the hall again and the girls 
followed her as far as the door, peering over her 
shoulder at the weird scene before them. 

The boys were there, all of them, tumbled, dis- 
hevelled, yet withal tremendously excited — peer- 
ing all about them, straining their eyes to pierce 
the darkness that shrouded the stair well. 

“The noise came from the lower hall, ,, Jack 
was explaining, excitedly. “And whatever it was 
went out by the front door. Come on, fellows, 
let’s investigate.” 

“Right you are,” cried Phil and they were half 
way down the stairs before a cry from Lucile 
made them pause. 

“Boys, don’t go down there,” she said. “Sup- 
pose it’s a burglar — he may be lying in wait for 
you.” 

“Far be it from us to disappoint him,” called 
Phil, cheerfully. And a moment later they were 
in the lower hall calling for a light. 

“Hand down that lamp, will you, fellows?” 
Jack’s voice came up to them. “You can’t see 
your hand before your face in this hole. Be 


72 Lucile on the Heights 

careful — that’s the time you nearly set the place 
on fire. 

“Jessie, I’m going down,” Lucile announced in 
a tense voice, although she was trembling with 
fright. “I’m not going to let Jack and Phil get 
killed all by themselves. Oh, listen — ” 

Her foot was actually on the first step when 
Jessie, running after her, caught her arm and 
held her back. 

“Lucy,” she cried, hysterically, “don’t be fool- 
ish. Do you realize, you just got out of bed?” 

Lucile, thus brought herself regarded her fluffy 
apparel resentfully. 

“Of course I’d forgotten,” she said, resent- 
fully. Who would remember such a silly thing 
at a time like this?” Oh, Jessie, I’m so frightened. 
Whatever that thing was, it was in our room — 
near enough to touch us.” 

“Oh, Lucy, how do you know?” Jessie gasped, 
wide-eyed. “Did you see it?” 

“No.” Lucile’s voice was scarcely above a whis- 
per and she was once more under the spell of 
that nameless horror. “I didn’t see it and I didn’t 


A Sign in the Dark 73 

feel it — I just knew it, that’s all. For a long time 
I couldn’t move — it seemed as though I couldn’t 
breathe. Then I heard it sigh and creep stealth- 
ily down the stairs — still I couldn’t move. Oh, 
Jessie,” her voice broke and Jessie’s arm went 
about her instinctively. “I don’t know what I 
would have done if you hadn’t spoken just as you 
did. What’s that?” 

“That” was a sharp and fervent exclamation 
from Phil as he stubbed his toe on an overturned 
chair in the hall. 

“Look here, fellows,” he called, a moment later, 
“this must be what made the noise just before we 
heard the door slam. Gee, if he hurt his toe as 
much as I did, no wonder he slammed the door.” 

In spite of themselves the girls at the head of 
the stairs giggled hysterically and from that time 
on the tension noticeably relaxed. 

That whoever or whatever had entered the house 
had really gone and was not, as far as the boys 
could ascertain, lurking about the house or the 
premises, soon became an established fact and 
with this assurance they were forced to be con- 
tent. 


74 Lucile on the Heights 

Mrs. Wescott, approaching the excited group 
at the stairhead, gently ordered them back to bed. 

“We have a long hard day before us to-mor- 
row, M she said, “and we have already lost too 
much sleep — don’t let us lose any more.” 

In spite of this sound and sensible advice, the 
girls found it very difficult to master their excite- 
ment and relax sufficiently for sleep. 

However, just as the morning greyness began 
to filter in at the windows, nature asserted herself 
and they sank into uneasy and restless slumber. 


CHAPTER VII 


NIGHTMARE DISPELLED 

Lucille struggled through an abyss of uncon- 
sciousness, then awoke with a cry of terror. 

“Don’t touch me,” she moaned, then opening 
her eyes, gazed straight into the loving sympathetic 
face of her guardian. 

“Lucille, dear, what is it?” cried the latter, in 
alarm. “It is only I — your guardian. What is 
the matter, dear?” 

Lucile drew in a sharp breath, then struggled 
to a sitting posture. 

“Oh, guardian dear, I’m so glad,” she said, a 
little breathlessly. I — I had a terrible dream — ” 

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Wescott, seating her- 
self on the edge of the bed and smoothing back 
the dark hair with gentle fingers. “You’re awake 
now, breakfast is ready and the sun is shining. 
That’s enough to make one forget everything— 
even bad dreams.” 


75 


76 Lucile on the Heights 

Lucile caught her guardian’s hand and held it 
tightly. 

“Tell me just one thing,” she said, earnestly. 
“It wasn’t a dream — about last night — was it?” 

“No, it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare.” 

They turned, surprised to find Jessie awake and 
thoughtfully regarding them. 

“If you had my headache,” she added, “you’d 
know it without asking.” 

Both girls looked rather pale and heavy-eyed 
but their wise little guardian was by far too tact- 
ful to remark upon it. Instead — 

“All the more reason,” she said gayly, “why we 
must get out in the sunshine and fresh air. It’s 
the most glorious day for pitching camp you ever 
saw — the air’s like wine and the trees and bushes 
are full of dew diamonds. Add to that some de- 
licious sizzling bacon — ” 

“Enough,” cried Lucile, responsive as always 
to the call of cheerfulness. “Anybody who insists 
upon being doleful with such a guardian as ours, 
doesn’t deserve her blessings. Oh, how the sun 
can change things.” 


Nightmare Dispelled 77 

‘That’s the prettiest philosophy in the world, 
little Lucile,” cried Mrs. Wescott as she started 
for the door. “If we could only keep that fact 
before us always, unhappiness would become an 
unknown quantity in the world. And as the first 
step toward optimism,” she finished, looking very 
young and girlish as she stood in the doorway, 
looking fondly round upon them, “is breakfast, 
I’d advise you not to lose any time. Hustle now.” 

With a laughing nod and a wave of the hand 
she disappeared, leaving behind her an irresistible 
atmosphere of happy good humor. The gloom, the 
mystery of the night before were temporarily for- 
gotten in anticipation of the glorious day before 
them. 

“There won’t be anything to spoil our plans 
to-day, I know it,” cried Lucile as she slipped a 
very much bedraggled skirt over her curly head. 
“The rain has stopped for good and if anything 
more happens to the automobiles we’ll get out 
and walk, that’s all.” 

“And if we get the tents up in time,” Evelyn 
added, “we may be able to go in for a swim be- 


78 Lucile on the Heights 

fore dark. Oh,” she stopped in consternation, 
struck by a dire thought, “suppose Mother forgot 
to pack my bathing suit.” 

“Evelyn,” Marion was beginning, horrified, when 
Jessie broke in complacently. 

“Don’t worry, Marion,” she said, twinkling. 
“That horrible suspicion always strikes Evelyn 
about this stage in her travels. We used to be 
worried, too, before we realized that she’d just 
about as soon leave herself home as her bathing 
suit. Not that she can help it,” she concluded 
magnanimously, “it’s just a sort of obsession, I 
guess.” 

Evelyn glared and was about to retort when 
Margaret poured oil on the troubled waters by 
remarking, 

“Never mind, Evelyn, if you have forgotten 
yours, you may have half of mine.” 

“Goodness, don’t be rash,” said Marjorie, hu- 
morously. “There’s hardly room for one in your 
suit, let alone another of Evelyn’s bulk.” 

“You talk as if I were a coal barge,” Evelyn 
protested, while Margaret flushed as the battery of 


Nightmare Dispelled 79 

laughing eyes were turned upon her, retorting with 
spirit, 

“I’m leaving something to the intelligence of my 
audience, foolish as that may seem — ” 

“Hey, what’s all the row?” As usual the voice 
and the slang were Phil’s. “All the rest are down 
stairs and I came up to see if you had gone to 
sleep again. All right, you needn’t all shout at 
once. I may be old and infirm, but I’m not deaf 
yet. Say,” he added, as there came a lull inter- 
spersed with chuckles from within, “you ought 
to see the mess that burglar chap made — muddy 
footprints all over the place. By the size of him 
he must have been a little guy.” 

“Phil,” cried Jessie, pausing with her comb in 
the air to stare wide-eyed at the closed door, 
“then it was really a man who made all that 
noise last night?” 

“Sure, what did you think it was?” returned 
Phil, genially, “a caterpillar? Hurry down, will 
you — we’re starving by inches.” 

With which plaintive remark he was gone, leav- 
ing the girls to stare at each other thoughtfully. 


80 Lucile on the Heights 

“It seems hard,” said Marjorie, slowly, “to think 
of last night as anything but a bad dream — espe- 
cially on a morning like this. Yet those foot- 
prints prove that it was an actual experience.” 

“Girls,” there was a quality in Lucile’ s voice 
that chained their attention, “I’ve read — I sup- 
pose we all have, time and time again of that 
sixth sense which warns us of some strange pres- 
ence in the room, even though we can’t see a 
thing.” 

“Yes,” they cried and gathered about her eag- 
erly, awed by her words and tone. “Did you feel 
that, Lucy?” 

“Yes,” she answered, tensely, “I didn’t see any- 
thing, I didn’t hear anything, yet I’m just as sure 
as I am that I’m sitting here with you, that there 
was someone in this room last night — ” 

“Lucile,” cried Marion, her gray eyes black 
with excitement, “why didn’t you call out?” 

“I couldn’t,” she answered, with a little shiver, 
“I tried hard enough but I couldn’t speak or move 
a muscle. But we mustn’t think of it any more,” 
she added, jumping up and flinging her arms out 


Nightmare Dispelled 81 

as though to banish the weird, unwelcome impres- 
sions of the night. “It’s all over now and we 
can’t help it any by keeping the boys waiting for 
breakfast.” 

This philosophy was all very well for Lucile, 
but it suited the other girls not one bit. The 
revelation was by far too interesting and exciting 
to be brought to so abrupt an end, but as Lucile 
was already halfway down the stairs there was 
nothing left for them to do but follow. 

Their reluctance to this alternative, however, 
ended as they reached the bottom step. Even the 
spell of mystery must give way before the sight 
of tempting viands and merry comrades. The 
latter welcomed the newcomers with a shout and 
fell to without further delay. 

At this moment Jack, who had gone outside to 
prospect around and see what he could find, came 
back with news that was welcome to everyone. 

“The old jitney bus is coming down the road,” 
he announced as he sank into a chair and helped 
himself generously to everything in sight. “Now 
if it doesn’t break down half a dozen times this 


82 Lucile on the Heights 

morning, we ought to be able to make camp by 
noon. How about it, Mr. Wescott?” 

“Easily,” said the latter, thus appealed to. 
“And I’m anxious to get you there to see how 
you will like the spot I’ve picked out. To me it’s 
just a little bit of heaven set in the heart of the 
mountains.” 

“Of course we’ll love it,” said Lucile, happily. 
“What more can we want than the woods and the 
sky and a little lake tucked away somewhere?” 

“And pleasant company,” added Jack, looking 
very handsome in the morning sunlight. “Don’t 
forget that part of it.” 

“They wouldn’t let us if we wanted to,” said 
Lucile, wickedly, adding as the wheezy old honk 
of a horn was heard outside, “oh, do let’s 
hurry — it’s criminal to spend any time in eating 
when we might be on the road.” 

It seemed that for once they all agreed with her, 
for after Mr. Wescott had consulted with his wife 
and some of the older boys as to how much money 
they should leave for the damage they had done, 
they all crowded out upon the porch, fairly daz- 
zled by the brilliance of the sunshine. 


Nightmare Dispelled 83 

Passing Lucile as she was fluffing out her pretty 
hair beneath a small white toque with a flaming 
red wing — the wing had come triumphantly 
through the storm of the day before — Phil put an 
arm about her and drew her up to him. 

“You’re looking pale, little sister,” he said, 
solicitously. “Are you letting last night get on 
your nerves too much?” 

“I’m trying not too,” she said, smiling up at 
him a little wistfully. “But it did frighten me 
pretty badly, Phil, dear. Oh, it’s nice,” she added, 
whimsically, “to have such a comfortable old bear 
of a brother — even if he does talk slang all the 
time.” 

Phil grinned and was about to reply when they 
were hailed by Mr. Wescott in the doorway. 

“Hi, there, break away,” he cried, laughing at 
them. “You’re holding up the whole party — you 
two. Come along, Miss Lucile — you’re wanted.” 

“You just bet you are,” said Jack suddenly 
turning up from nowhere. “I’ve been trying for 
two whole years to tell you just how much.” 

“Letters, letters,” cried Evelyn, running tip to 


84 Lucile on the Heights 

them, much to Jack’s disgust. “Three for you, 
Lucy, and two for you, Jack. Old Grouchy 
brought them from the village. Wasn’t he lovely? 
I’m sorry I made so much fun of him behind his 
back.” 

They laughed at her, received their letters joy- 
fully, then ran down the steps to take their places 
in “old grouchy’s” machine. The other chauf- 
feurs who had found comfortable enough shelter 
for themselves and the cars in the big rambling old 
barn at the back of the house, shambled up and 
began cranking the motors. 

As the girls settled down contentedly, Jessie 
reached over and squezzed Lucile’s hand. 

“I’m glad we’re going rather than coming to 
that house,” she said as, with many sputterings 
and after numerous false starts the machine rolled 
down the gravelled drive, “I wouldn’t spend an- 
other night there for a million.” 

“Nor I,” said Lucile, emphatically. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE GYPSY BOY 

In the joyous freedom of the open air all the 
mysterious happenings of the night before were 
forgotten. The road stretched before them, a 
narrow, winding white ribbon, now lost to view 
by the sudden jutting of a rock, now appearing 
abruptly before them, rising upward, ever upward 
as though it meant to touch the sky. 

“What gets me,” Phil broke in upon a happy 
silence, “is how these old jitney busses manage the 
inclines. That sure is some steep hill ahead of 
us, yet we’ll probably make it. They must have 
powerful engines.” 

“I don’t mind going up,” said Lucille, “but it’s 
the coasting on the other end that takes your 
breath away. If it didn’t bump so horribly it 
would be most as good as our scenic railway in 
Burleigh.” 

Jack laughed, showing a set of splendid white 
teeth. 


85 


86 Lucile on the Heights 

“Some day I'll take you on a regular scenic,” 
he said. “People don’t think they’ve seen New 
York until they’ve taken in the Island half a dozen 
times.” 

“Ooh,” said Lucile, gleefully, “will you do 
that, Jack? It’s terribly hard to spend all your 
life in the backwoods.” 

“If I had anything to say about it,” said Jack, 
unexpectedly, “you wouldn’t have to.” 

Phil who had been having an earnest conversa- 
tion with Jessie overheard these last words and 
turned in time to see Lucile flush scarlet. 

“Hear, hear,” he grinned, “don’t mind us, Jack. 
If you’ll tell old Hickey to stop the car we’ll get 
out till you’ve had your say. There are some oc- 
casions when two is all the car can comfortably 
hold. What say, Jessie?” 

“By no means,” returned Jessie primly, while 
the eyes she fixed upon Lucile were sparkling with 
mischief. “If Jack won’t behave himself, we’ll 
have to stay and see that he does. Everybody 
always said I made a good chaperone.” 

“I hate to call names,” Phil was beginning 


The Gypsy Boy 87 

piously, when Jack interrupted him with a chuckle. 

‘That’s funny,” he said, his eyes twinkling, 
“but do you know what your mother said to me, 
dear little coz, the last thing before we started?” 

“No — what?” said Jessie, curiously. 

“ ‘Keep your eye on Jessie, Jack — and what- 
ever you do, don’t let her get into any mischief.’ ” 

“I love Mother,” said Jessie, maddened by Phil’s 
crow of delight, “but I’ll never forgive her for 
that. Phil Payton, if you don’t stop laughing — ” 

Phil’s face sobered into such instant and comical 
gravity that even Jessie was forced to laugh at 
him. 

“It’s nice to have him trained like that, Jessie,” 
remarked Lucile, whimsically. “All MothePs 
training and Dad’s authority never had such an 
effect upon him. It’s plain to be seen we’ve 
treated him too well.” 

“Never mind,” said Phil, with a laugh, “every 
dog has his day — wait till I get mine.” 

“Humph, what will you do with it?” There was 
curiosity as well as scorn in Jessie’s tone and 
Lucile and Jack evinced interest. 


88 Lucile on the Heights 

“Never you mind, young lady,” he answered, 
mysteriously. “What I’ll do will be plenty — you 
needn’t worry about that.” 

“I’m not,” said Jessie, elaborately stifling a 
yawn. “What you do in company with your four- 
footed brethren — ” 

“Thank you,” murmured Phil. 

“In that mysterious time you call ‘your day’ 
will not of course, affect me.” 

“Oh, won’t it, though?” There was much fer- 
vor and determination in Phil’s voice and such an 
eager light in his eyes that Jessie started and Lu- 
cile turned to Jack with a chuckle. 

“Now, I guess it’s time we left,” she said, and 
Jessie gave a little bounce in her seat. 

“Everybody’s foolish to-day,” she complained, 
flushing uncomfortably — Jessie was always uncom- 
fortable when she felt Phil getting beyond her, 
as he did all too often, these days. “Let’s talk 
about something sensible.” 

“Impossible,” said Phil and received another 
withering glance. 

“For you, yes,” she was beginning when Lucile 
cried out in dismay. 



“Is he killed?” cried Lucile. ( Page 89.) 



The Gypsy Boy 89 

They had rounded a sharp curve in the road, 
travelling at their usual breakneck speed and 
were almost upon a boy in their path before the 
driver was aware of his presence. 

Then, while they held their breath, the car 
swerved sharply and would have missed the lad 
entirely had it not been for the crutch in his 
hand. The front wheel struck it, ground it to 
pieces and the boy robbed of his support and 
frightened by the suddenness of the shock, rolled 
over into the ditch and lay there perfectly still. 

A few feet further on the driver brought the 
car to a grinding standstill and the young folks 
alighted, running back fearfully to see what dam- 
age had been done. 

“Is he killed cried Lucile as the two boys 
lifted the small, unconscious figure and laid it upon 
the grass by the roadside. “Oh, Jack, see how 
thin and white his face is.” 

Jack nodded gravely, then lifting his head, 
listened intently for a moment. 

“There’s running water somewhere in there, 
Phil,” he said, instinctively taking command of 


90 Lucile on the Heights 

the situation. “Suppose you get some while I 
loosen his shirt. The poor little duffer seems to 
be all in.” 

Phil obeyed mechanically and as the other 
machines rolled up one by one and their startled 
companions gathered around, Jack made the ex- 
planations with a quiet ease and simplicity that 
made Lucile look at him thoughtfully. 

At that moment Phil came back with the water 
which was dripping through a hat never guaran- 
teed to be water tight and dashed it over the face 
and neck of the still motionless boy. 

With a start and a gasp the child came to him- 
self and gazed about him dazedly. Then, sud- 
denly, with the motion of a terrified animal, he 
flung his hand before his face and staggered diz- 
zily to his feet. 

“What do you want with me?” he cried, his 
thin features contorted with fright. “I never 
did anything to you. Let me go, let me go I tell 
you,” His voice rose to a wail and he would 
have run from them, but his crutch was gone and 
with a little cry he sank to the ground, burying 
his face in the soft moss at their feet. 


The Gypsy Boy 91 

“I ain’t done anything,” he whispered, piteous- 
ly, “let me go.” 

In an instant Lucile was on her knees beside 
the quivering little figure. 

“Why of course we’ll let you go,” she said, 
soothingly, stroking the poor little thin hand as 
it lay upon the grass. “We only want to help 
you, that’s all. If you’ll tell us where you live, 
we’ll take you there.” 

The boy looked up unbelievingly. 

“You aren’t going to hurt me?” he said, and 
Lucile felt the quick tears sting her eyes — his 
surprise was so terribly genuine. 

“Of course not,” she said, unsteadily. “Won’t 
you tell us where you live, dear?” 

“Live?” he pondered the question and the girls 
noticed what unusually large, black eyes the boy 
had. “I guess I don’t live anywhere now — I — 
once — I — lived — ” 

A long clear whistle came from the depths of 
the woods and at the sound the boy struggled 
to his feet again, clinging to Lucile and gazing 
wildly about him. 


92 Lucile on the Heights 

“It's him — he’s come for me,” he cried, trem- 
bling from head to foot. “Oh, don’t let him have 
me — don’t — ” 

From the forest sprang a gigantic man, black- 
haired and bronzed to the color of an Indian and 
even in that moment of mingled emotions his 
fantastic clothing, the red handkerchief knotted 
about his throat, proclaimed his gypsy blood. 

With an oath he sprang upon the boy, tearing 
him from Lucile so roughly that she shrank back, 
sprang across the ditch and disappeared into the 
woods before they could more than gasp their 
surprise. 

“Well, I’ll be blessed,” said Mr. Wescott, then, 
as a stifled cry came from the forest, indecision 
vanished and with a quick movement he had 
leaped the ditch and was crashing through the 
underbrush — the boys close at his heels. 

“What next?” cried Jessie, dispairingly. “Now 
they’ll never come back.” 

But they did come back a few minutes later, 
hot panting and very much disgruntled. 

“Not a sign of them,” said Mr. Wescott in re- 


The Gypsy Boy 93 

sponse to the chorus that greeted him. “If the 
earth had opened and swallowed them up, they 
couldn’t be lost more completely. Say, I’d like 
to get my hands on that old bandit. I’d teach him 
to maltreat children — lame ones at that. Well, 
climb in, folks, we can’t accomplish anything by 
staying around. Say, Helen, I wish we could 
have gotten that little shaver,” this last was ad- 
dressed to his wife and she nodded gravely as 
they walked toward the cars. 

“It makes me feel faint and sick,” she said, and 
her lips were white with pity. “A child doesn’t 
act like that unless it is used to brutal treatment. 
I suppose there’s nothing we can do, Jack?” 

He pondered a moment while the young folks 
gathered around him anxiously. 

“I can’t think of anything,” he said, shaking 
his head slowly. “The child probably belongs to 
that gypsy — ” 

“But he has no moral right,” Mrs. Wescott 
was beginning, hotly when her husband inter- 
rupted her with gentle firmness. 

“I was coming to that,” he said, quietly. “Of 


94 Lucile on the Heights 

course, morally we have the right to take a child 
away from a brute who is maltreating it, whether 
the brute is its father or not. I hardly think we’d 
have any conscientious scruples about that.” 

“I should hope not,” said Jack, grimly — he was 
still haunted by that pitiful cry in the forest and 
Lucile’s white face worried him. “I should hope 
not,” he repeated, more grimly than before. 

“However,” continued Mr. Wescott, “we have 
about as much chance of hunting down a gypsy in 
his familiar haunts as we would have of finding 
a trinket in a beachful of sand — just about. In 
the meantime,” he made an eloquent gesture with 
his hand toward the sun which was rapidly climb- 
ing above their heads and they sighed in unison. 

“Of course you’re right,” said Mrs. Wescott, 
turning away irresolutely. “Only — I had hoped 
— ” she paused, then flung up her head in the old 
decisive gesture, saying in a cheery voice, 

“Well, girls and boys, there’s no use crying 
about spilled milk, is there? We’ll hope that some 
day we will be able to find that miserable child 
and make him happy. Meanwhile, if we hope to 


The Gypsy Boy 95 

make camp by noon we will have to hurry and 
make up for the time we have lost.” 

The girls and boys accepted the mandate re- 
luctantly and thoughtfully climbed back into the 
cars. 

“I wonder what next,” sighed Jessie as they 
settled back and the wind fanned their faces grate- 
fully. “You sure knew what you were talking 
about when you prophesied an adventurous sum- 
mer, Lucy.” 

“I should say so,” Phil agreed, whistling soft- 
ly. “First we have a bout with an unseen enemy, 
then run down a poor little beggar — lame at that 
— and give chase to gypsy bandits — whew, some 
full days, I tell you!” 

“Altogether too much of a good thing,” said 
Jack, frowning. “It’s all right for us fellows but 
I don’t like to have the girls mixed up in such 
things. I’ll be glad when we reach the place 
and get the tents up. Also, a swim wouldn’t go 
so bad — likewise, some eats. What say, Phil?” 

Phil’s face assumed an expression of beatific 
rapture and he sighed ecstatically. 


96 Lucile on the Heights 

“Ah, the aroma of frying fish,” he said. “Do 
I smell it or is it all imagination — ” 

“Some people might be polite and call it that,” 
said Jessie, cuttingly, and while he looked at her 
reproachfully his own sister launched a mortal 
blow, as he would have expressed it. 

“I thought you knew Phil well enough, Jack,” 
she was saying, “to let a sleeping dog lie.” 

“More thanks,” he said, plaintively. “For the 
second time within a few short hours I have been 
likened to a four-footed canine — ” 

“No,” said Jessie, scornfully. “I thought all 
canines were two-footed.” 

“Such ignorance,” said Phil, condescendingly, 
“is more to be pitied than scorned. Now, if you 
had only had my advantages — ” 

Jessie was prevented from launching a counter 
attack by a loud summons behind them which 
made the chauffeur pause and glance around. 

“Turn to the right,” called Mr. Wescott. “You 
can take the cars almost all the way up. Stick to 
the road.” 


The Gypsy Boy 97 

They started on again and Lucile looked at Jack 
with shining eyes. 

“From which I gather,” she said, demurely, 
“that we are approaching our destination. A sum- 
mer in camp, Jack — does it sound good?” 

“More than that,” he assured her fervently. 


CHAPTER IX 


“a little bit of heaven” 

Up, up they went till it seemed as though they 
would never reach the top. The road, which at 
the best had not been of the smoothest, became 
almost impossible as they progressed and finally 
the cars stopped altogether. 

“And from now on we walk,” cried Lucille, 
springing from the car before any one could help 
her and running on ahead of them. 

Over stones, rocks, roots she jumped and 
clambered, hat in hand, hair flying wildly, Diana, 
a creature of the woods in her freeest mood. 

Jack, taking the steep upgrade as though he 
were running a marathon on the level, caught up 
with her between a huge boulder and a giant 
tree, mercilessly cutting off her retreat. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he queried, 
trying to look severe and failing utterly. “This 
isn’t the path we follow; in fact, it isn’t any path 
98 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 


90 


at all. If I let you go will you behave yourself?” 

“How can I tell?” she cried, laughing at him 
impishly. “I don’t make rash promises. Oh, 
Jack,” she flung up her head with the little gesture 
so pretty to watch and so peculiarly her own. 
“I’m so happy. I love them all, the trees, the 
grass, the springs, the birds, the smell of the 
ground — ” 

Something seemed to tighten in Jack’s throat 
and he leaned toward her suddenly. 

“And where do I come in?” he asked. 

A swift movement, the flash of something white, 
a little rippling laugh and Lucile had evaded him. 
A few steps from him she paused, turned and 
made him a little mock curtsey. 

“You?” she queried, gayly challengingly. 
“Why, Jack — you come in the door.” 

When they returned to the spot where they 
had left the folks they found it a scene of tre- 
mendous activity. All the luggage, utensils, tents 
and provisions were being unpacked, preparatory 
to doling out shares for the boys and girls to 
carry the short remaining distance to the camp site. 


100 Lucile on the Heights 

In vain had the boys gallantly insisted that 
alone and unaided by the opposite and more deli- 
cate sex they were capable of handling the whole 
show. The girls stoutly maintained their inde- 
pendence and declared they would carry something 
— if it was only a can of vegetable soup! 

“The idea,” Marjorie was declaiming as Lucile 
reached her, “here we are, perfectly good camp- 
fire girls and the boys want to set us down in a 
corner with our hands crossed and look pretty — 
if such a thing were possible — which it isn't for 
me — . No, Ray, you needn’t laugh — I wasn't 
fishing — even though I don’t suppose you’ll take 
my word for it.” 

Ray, who had been lifting a heavy load 
canned goods to his shoulders during this unusual- 
ly long and firey peroration from one of Mar- 
jories easy-going temperament — grinned more 
broadly and remarked enigmatically, 

“I’ll never again say girls can’t be reasonable. 
No, don’t fire, Marj — I’m sorry.” 

Laughingly Lucile left them and made her way 
to the center of activity where Mr. and Mrs. Wes- 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 101 

cott were busily handing down packages to those 
who had not already been provided with them. 

Lucile was given a bundle of many shapes and 
angles, with whose contents she was vainly at- 
tempting to acquaint herself, when Jessie chanc- 
ing upon her, caught her up in a wild embrace, 
whirling her round and round, regardless of many 
cornered packages and all other such trifles. 

“Goodness, Lucy, what have you got there?” 
she cried when they had stopped for breath. 
“Looks like a potato masher or a bomb or some- 
thing. Look out, it might go off.” 

“Which, the masher or the bomb?” queried Lu- 
cile. “Come on, Jessie,” she added as their guar- 
dian beckoned to them. “Everybody’s ready and 
I’m crazy to see Mr. Wescott’s idea of heaven.” 

Merrily they followed. The soft breath of sum- 
mer kissed their faces as they passed, swaying 
branches brushed them gently, fearless, feathery 
little songsters swayed daringly on cob-web twigs 
above their heads and poured out wild sweet ca- 
dences, enveloping them in a flood of melody. 

It was exquisite, primal, inspiring and the ex- 


102 Lucile on the Heights 

uberant, vital youthfulness of them answered to 
the call of it. 

“We’re getting there, folks,” Mr. Wescott called 
back to them, pausing to fish out his great white 
pocket handkerchief and wipe his “fevered brow.” 
“Take a good look about you and see how you 
like it.” 

Then suddenly they came upon it— a little bit 
of heaven, set in the heart of the mountains. It 
was all of that — and more. 

Two rows of gnarled old oaks formed a natu- 
ral entrance hall to the enchanted spot — trees 
whose branches twined and intertwined till in 
some places they had to bow their heads to pass 
beneath them. Under their feet the moss was 
thick and rich and soft, while on every side grew 
wild flowers, vivid hued, exotic in their gorgeous- 
ness. 

The girls drew their breath sharply. They 
had thought their other camp site beautiful — but 
this — ! 

“Wait till you see the rest of it,” said Mr. 
Wescott as though in answer to their unspoken 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 


103 


thoughts. “Here we are — now look down there. 
How’s that for a view?” 

He drew aside some intervening branches and 
following his gaze they stood rooted to the spot 
by the beauty of it — mute in their admiration. 
What they saw was this — 

A long gentle slope, dotted with trees and 
boulders, carpeted richly with moss, colored bril- 
liantly with patches of wild flowers like those in 
the aisle of oaks and beyond, half-seen, half- 
hidden by the dense of foliage, shone the lake, 
placid, beautiful, dazzling in its myriad point re- 
flection of the sun. 

“Say, Mr. Wescott,” murmured Phil respect- 
fully, “this sure is class. I couldn’t have picked 
out a better spot, myself!” 

They laughed and, laughing, broke the spell. 

With shouts of delight they rushed forward for- 
getful of the packages they held, forgetful of 
everything save the irresistible lure of that shining 
water. They half -ran, half -tumbled down the 
slope, getting in each other’s way, dropping things, 
stumbling, picking themselves up, so mad with the 


104 Lucile on the Heights 

joy of the moment that mishaps passed unnoticed. 

As usual, Lucile led them all and Jack had to 
run his swiftest to catch up with her. As it was, 
she was on “the very edge of the brink” as Phil 
would have expressed it when he caught her arm, 
calling laughingly over his shoulder to Phil to do 
the same. 

“She’s running amuck, I guess,” he said. 
“Water always seems to have that effect upon her. 
Hold on, Lucile — you can’t expect to make a 
fancy high dive in that rig.” 

“I could do it,” she replied, dimpling. “Just 
let me go and I’ll show you.” 

“No, no,” said Jack, soothingly. “We’ll take 
your word for it. Come on over here like a nice 
little girl and see your guardian. If she can do 
an}rthing with you, it’s more than I can.” He took 
her by the hand and led her laughing and pro- 
testing to the spot where Mrs. Wescott had sunk 
down in relief upon the grass with the girls clus- 
tered about her. 

“What’s the matter, now?” she queired as Lu- 
cile flopped down beside her and looked up re- 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 


105 


proachfully at Jack. “Has he been teasing you, 
Lucy? If he has, he will have to answer to me/' 

Jack looked down at the pair quizzically. He 
had always been a great favorite of the little 
guardian and he knew it, so now he drawled, with 
mock alarm, “You don’t say. Well, now, that 
does worry me — ” 

“Say,” Jack, get busy.” It was Phil’s voice, with 
an unusually peremptory note in it. “We’ve got 
to get the tents up so we can eat — eat, old man — 
do you get that? Gee, how can you stand there — ” 

But Jack didn’t and neither did anyone else. 
For the next hour everybody was busy, none 
wasted the quarter of a second — and the results 
were miraculous. 

Tents were up, cots placed and provisions care- 
fully stored in the mess tents — everything was 
ready for the preparation of their first meal in 
camp. 

“I shouldn’t have thought it could be done,” 
said Jessie, as she and Lucile stood with arms 
intertwined, regarding the work with satisfaction. 
“The boys worked like demons — I never saw; such 
energy.” 


106 Lucile on the Heights 

“Hunger,” explained Lucile, gleefully. “Mr. 
Wescott knew what he was doing when he would- 
n’t let us eat beforehand. Hello, Evelyn honey— 
what you got?” 

“Lots,” said Evelyn, pausing and looking im- 
portant. She was carrying something in a hat 
which she protected carefully from the soft va- 
grant breeze that rustled in the tree tops. 

“Lots,” grunted Jessie, scornfully. “That tells 
us a lot doesn’t it? Lots of what?” 

“Lots,” repeated Evelyn, giggling wickedly. . “I 
told you before, didn’t I?” 

“Now you be nice,” Jessie was beginning threat- 
eningly when Lucile broke in with a laugh. 

“She means to be taken literally,” she explained. 
“What do we have to draw ’em for, Evelyn — to 
see who eats the first baked bean?” 

“Just about,” said Evelyn, shielding the flutter- 
ing slips of paper still more carefully. “The boys 
are having a terrible argument about who is to 
prepare lunch so Mr. Wescott suggested lottery 
as the best way to settle it. Come and see the 
fun — it’s better than a show.” 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 


107 


“Are they trying to get out of it?” asked Lu- 
cile as they walked toward the boys' camp, which 
had been pitched quite some distance from theirs. 
“When we talked about it home they all seemed 
eager to do it. I didn’t think they’d back down 
when the time came.” 

“Oh, they haven’t,” Evelyn chuckled, while they 
regarded her in surprise. “In fact, it’s just the 
other way. They don’t seem to have any faith in 
each other’s cooking.” 

“Not that you can blame them,” Jessie mur- 
mured. 

“Of course you can’t,” answered Evelyn, agree- 
ing with her rival for the first time since the be- 
ginning of the trip. “That’s the funny part of it. 
Each one is sure that the only way he can get 
anything worth eating is to prepare it with his 
own fair hands. Listen to them — you’d think 
their lives depended upon it to hear them talk.” 

At sight of the girls the boys stopped their 
heated argument and regarded them with flatter- 
ing attention. Mr. Wescott took the cap from 
Evelyn, thanked her and then turned with a 
laugh to the boys. 


108 Lucile on the Heights 

“When we get settled,” he said, “we will of 
course be divided into squads — each squad to have 
a leader and certain duties assigned to it for 
every day in the week. But,” he added, stirring 
the bits of paper with his finger and looking about 
him amusedly, “for the present — hunger being 
rather rampant — ” 

“You said it,” they groaned in unison. 

“This method seems the quickest and most sat- 
isfactory. Now, then — everybody ready?” 

They assented with fervor and the cap was 
passed around amid an awed hush. 

“I got it,” cried Phil, waving his blank slip of 
paper aloft. “Now, fellows, you’ll find out what 
a good lunch is.” 

The others grunted skeptically while Phil and 
the other two boys who had drawn the lucky slips 
rushed off with a whoop to the mess tent. 

Mrs. Wescott exchanged a glance of meaning 
with her husband, then turned laughingly to the 
girls. 

“Come on,” she said. “We won’t draw lots 


“A Little Bit of Heaven” 


109 


but we’ll guarantee as good a meal Call on us, 
boys, if you need any help.” 

“Say,” Jack called after them wistfully. “You 
don’t happen to have an invitation for a regular 
meal hanging around loose, do you? Because if 
you have — ” 

Only a mocking laugh greeted this appeal and 
Lucile paused a moment to fling over her shoulder 
one last retort. 

“Them that makes their beds,” she said laugh- 
ing, “must lie on ’em. Besides,” the last sentence 
came to them clearly through the foliage, “we 
only allow respectable people in our camp!” 


CHAPTER X 


lucile’s discovery 

“Now what,” said Mrs. Wescott, looking about 
the long table expectantly, “would you like to do 
next if you could choose?” 

“Wash the dishes,” said Amy Gregory, prompt- 

iy- 

Amy was one of the camp-fire’s latest acquisi- 
tions and had already evinced a fervor for work 
that was quite inexplicable to the other girls. She 
was not pretty but her temper was so uniformly 
good and her devotion to the camp fire ideals so 
undoubtedly genuine that the girls thoroughly 
liked her. Now, however, her romantic sugges- 
tion evoked a storm of disapproval. 

“Wash the dishes,” sniffed Evelyn, scornfully. 
“Our guardian asked us what we’d like to do, 
Amy — not what we had to! Goodness, somebody 
suggest something quick or I’m going home.” 

“Well, if you can’t suggest it yourself,” said 
no 


Lucile’s Discovery 111 

Jessie, with asperity, “you deserve to. I knew 
what I wanted to do this afternoon three weeks 
ago.” 

“I wonder,” said Lucile at this point and all 
eyes were turned toward her as she sat near the 
tent flap, gazing dreamily out toward the water, 
“I wonder just how deep the lake is and just 
how cold that beautiful blue and green water 
would feel. Who wants to go with me and relieve 
my mind?” 

A shout of joy greeted the suggestion and Mrs. 
Wescott had all she could do to make her voice 
heard above the hubbub. When the noise had 
partly subsided, she said with a twinkle, 

“I hate to check your enthusiasm, dear girls, 
but remember, business comes before pleasure. 
By the time we've hustled these things out of the 
way and unearthed our bathing suits we’ll have 
earned our recreation. Come now — let’s break 
our record!” 

And break it they did. Within fifteen minutes 
water had been brought up from the lake, dishes 
washed and put away, provisions stored and a 
wild rush for bathing- suits begun. 


112 Lucile on the Heights 

“At this rate,” said Lucile, joyfully rummaging 
in the tiny steamer trunk containing her outfit for 
the summer, “we ought to get there before the 
boys. If we do they’ll never get over it.” 

“We won’t let ’em,” chuckled Jessie, flinging 
her little black and white bathing suit over her 
shoulder and directly upon Evelyn’s bowed blonde 
head, momentarily obscuring that young person’s 
vision. 

Accordingly, a howl went up and the unoffend- 
ing bathing suit was redelivered with scant cere- 
mony and considerable dispatch to its rightful 
owner. Jessie, receiving it upon the tip of one 
dainty ear, gently detached it and gazed thought- 
fully from it to Evelyn and back again. 

“What seems to be the matter with it?” she 
inquired, argumentatively. “It seemed to be a 
pretty good bathing suit before it left home — ” 

“Like its owner,” said Evelyn, adding as she 
bent once more over her trunk, “everything is all 
right in its place but the place for your bathing 
suit is not upon my head — ” 

“Well, I should say not,” said Jessie, indignant- 


Lucile’s Discovery 113 

ly, “I thought I’d taught it to stay where it be- 
longs — ” 

“Oh, you goose, do keep still,” cried Evelyn, 
adding, as she once more dived frantically into the 
trunk, “I knew I’d forget something — ” 

Lucile and Jessie looked at each other, then 
darted forward, peering anxiously over Evelyn’s 
shoulder. “What?” they cried. 

“Nothing!” she answered, grinning up at them 
wickedly, then scuttling behind the trunk at the 
threat in Jessie’s eyes. 

“All right, don’t shoot,” she pleaded. “I won’t 
do it again — hope to die if I do.” 

“You won’t have to hope,” Jessie prophesied, 
grimly. 

“Girls, how do you like my new bathing suit? 
Stop your foolishness and look at me,” and Lucile 
pirouetted before them, sweet and alluring as the 
spirit of summer itself. 

The suit was plain and black with little touches 
of red here and there and perched on her dark 
curls was a little rakish hat of red and white, 
becoming as only Lucile’s hats knew how. to be. 


114 Lucile on the Heights 

She was so unusually pretty that these two friends 
of hers laughed in pure delight at the sight of 
her. 

‘‘Wait till Jack sees you, Lucy, dear,” was 
Jessie’s characteristic remark while Evelyn, cock- 
ing her head on one side like a speculative robin, 
said fondly, 

“You’re never hard to look at, Lucy, but you’re 
less so at this particular minute. Are you going 
to wait for us?” 

“About two minutes,” she answered, severely. 
“If you’re not ready then — ” 

But they were — incredible as it may seem, they 
were — and at the end of the prescribed two min- 
utes three very attractive young mermaids stole 
from the tent and stood looking about them. 

“Not a soul in sight,” said Jessie, disgustedly. 
“What do the girls think they’re doing — dressing 
for a dance?” 

“No, here they come,” said Lucile, her eyes 
sparkling. “Now for the chance to show those 
boys a thing or two. Oh, girls, that water, that 
beautiful — sparkling — heavenly — water — ” the ad- 


Lucile’s Discovery 115 

jectives were strung out behind her as she ran 
pell mell followed by all the other girls down to 
the water’s edge. 

At the brink she stopped and motioned the 
others back. 

“We don’t know how deep it is,” she explained, 
“and since some of you are just learning to swim 
we’d better wait and see what our guardian has 
to say.” 

Their guardian, appearing at that moment in 
her own dainty suit and only distinguishable from 
the girls themselves by that subtle, quiet air of 
authority which had always impressed and con- 
trolled them, she was instantly surrounded and 
dragged down to the water’s edge amid a very 
babel of chattering tongues. 

“Girls, girls,” she protested, laughingly, “I 
may be able to answer you if I can ever find out 
what you’re talking about. Of course you want 
to go into the water and equally of course you 
did quite right in waiting to consult me. Now, 
Lucile, suppose you and Jessie and Marjorie, all 
you older girls, in fact, who know how to swim 


116 Lucile on the Heights 

well, test the water for its depth. Go in slowly 
and look out for holes. They are one great dan- 
ger in a lake like this. Now then, careful !” 

Nothing loath, the girls slipped off the bank and 
into the water up to their waists. How clear and 
cold and deliciously fresh it was! They fairly 
crowed with delight as, hand in hand, strung out 
in a delightful and very attractive human chain, 
they slowly felt their way forward, experiencing 
something of the emotions of Columbus when he 
first set foot upon American soil. 

“The first to find a hole,” sang out Lucile, 
“gets the biggest piece of cake to-night.” 

“Thanks, Lucy,” gasped Marjorie and the next 
moment they found themselves looking at a miss- 
ing link in the chain where Marjorie had been. 

“Goodness, I hope she comes up,” Evelyn was 
crying, when, a moment later Marjorie emerged, 
sputtering but triumphant. 

“Only about seven feet deep,” she announced, 
swimming to a shallow place and shaking herself 
vigorously. “The boys ought to rig up buoys 
around here. It isn’t exactly what you might call 
safe for the younger girls.” 


Lucile’s Discovery; 117 

“But say, Lucy,” she added, as they turned back 
to report to their guardian, “don’t forget what 
you said about the biggest piece of cake. I have 
witnesses.” 

The witnesses were heard to murmur something 
about such coincidences being usually put-up jobs, 
but upon Marjorie’s offering indignantly to go 
back and do it all over again for their benefit, 
they finally capitulated. 

Mrs. Wescott was considerably disturbed by 
the report, for though she had warned against the 
possibility of water holes, she had fondly hoped 
her fears to be unfounded, but here was actual 
proof of them. She finally decided to await the 
advent of Mr. Wescott and the boys before ven- 
turing in with the younger girls. 

“Shall we have to wait too?” asked Lucile, 
striving to speak cheerfully though a sudden 
darkening of the expectant light in her eyes 
showed her disappointment. “The water felt so 
awfully good,” she added, longingly. 

“Oh, go ahead,” laughed her guardian, “I 
have confidence in your being able to take care 


118 Lucile on the Heights 

of yourself, Lucile, only, whatever you do, swim 
close to the shore.” 

With a shout of delight, Lucile plunged into 
the water, swimming strongly while the older 
girls, succeeding in obtaining like permission, one 
after another followed her lead. 

Lucile, skirting the shore, had come almost 
opposite the boys’ camp when she heard a shout 
from that direction, and glancing up, beheld a 
black-clad figure gesticulating wildly on the bank. 

Presently the black-clad figure was joined by 
other black-clad figures and each in turn seemed 
to be imbued with the mania of the first, shouting 
and pointing at her as though she were some sea 
serpent or other curiosity, instead of just a very 
pretty girl in a very pretty bathing suit. 

A moment later, some half dozen of the black- 
clad figures plunged head first into the water and 
Lucile knew herself to be pursued. 

Redoubling her efforts with the instinctive de- 
sire of the hunted not to be caught, she swam 
about a huge boulder and into a narrow inlet, en- 
tirely invisible from most parts of the shore. 


Lucile’s Discovery 119 

Down this she swam, feeling again and more 
strongly that strange wild thrill of the explorer — 
swam around another sharp bend of the shore, 
where branches from trees on either side formed 
a leafy canopy above her head and — found that 
the inlet and her journey of discovery had come 
to an abrupt end. 

Land surrounded her on three sides — land as 
beautiful as the historic garden of Eden — and yet 
land — where she had wanted water. 

But what were those three decrepit-looking ob- 
jects on the bank, directly ahead. Blots on the 
landscape you, as a casual observer, might have 
thought them — but not so Lucile. 

By the incredulous light of wonder and awe in 
her eyes as she swam nearer and nearer to them, 
they might have been some magically discovered 
chests of treasure or other equally acceptable gifts 
of the gods, instead of these disreputable, battered 
old row boats of ancient origin. 

Eagerly she scrambled on shore and fell to ex- 
amining them. On closer inspection they weren't 
so bad after all — a little patching and a coat or 
two of paint — . 


120 Lucile on the Heights 

“So you thought you could run away from me, 
did you?” a cheerful, masculine voice accosted 
her and she turned to find Jack Striding toward 
her up the inlet. “The others thought you’d taken 
another turn but I had a sure hunch that led me 
to you. You can’t fool your Uncle Jack.” 

But Lucile seemed scarcely to have heard him. 
She ran to meet him eagerly and pointed to her 
new discovery. 

“Look,” she cried, “we won’t have to make 
rafts. Some thoughtful person has left us three 
whole boats.” 

“Boats,” Jack repeated, following her and in- 
specting her find with a critical eye. “They look 
about as much like boats as that jitney bus we 
came up in looks like an automobile. Not quite 
so much, in fact.” 

Lucile pouted and turned away in disappoint- 
ment. 

“I thought you’d be as glad as I was,” she said. 
“A little time spent on them would make them 
water tight but — oh, let’s go back to the others,” 
she turned abruptly and would have run from 


Lucile’s Discovery 121 

him had he not caught her hand and held her 
back. 

“No you don’t,” he said, severely. “I’ll let you 
run away from me once a day, but no more — 
that’s your allowance. Lucy, dear,” he added, 
coming nearer and speaking to a provokingly 
tilted plaid hat beneath which a curl escaped re- 
belliously, “I didn’t know you cared particularly 
about my liking the boats but since you do I’ll 
swear that such a picture never before delighted 
the eyes of man — so far I’m right. No, I didn’t 
mean it and please don’t draw away from me as 
if I was ‘a adder,’ as aid black Andy used to say. 
I’m not, really I’m not — only a poor dumb ani- 
mal, — ” 

“Oh, Jack,” Lucile was dimpling now and look- 
ing up at him helplessly, “you’re — you’re — im- 
possible — ” 

“Good,” he cried, adding triumphantly, “did 
n’t you tell me once you loved impossible people — ” 

No one knows just what Lucile would have 
said and just what would have happened next had 
not a cough disturbed the verdant stillness at that 


122 Lucile on the Heights 

psychological moment, accompanied by a very 
feminine giggle. 

“Excuse us,” said Phil as the two started, Jack 
glaring angrily and Lucile a little flushed. “We 
thought you might have struck some more holes 
or things and we came out to look for you.” 

“Jack looks as though he’d like to strike more 
than holes,” grinned Phil as he handed Jessie up 
the bank. “Don’t do it, old man, you might lose 
your temper and so hurt yourself more than you 
would me.” 

“I’d take my chance on that,” said Jack, grouch- 
ily — feeling much the same reaction of a man who 
has been basking in the light of a beautiful fire 
and suddenly finds himself at the bottom of a 
well. “Confound it, why did someone always have 
to turn up just at the wrong minute? I’d take a 
mighty long chance on that,” he repeated emphat- 
ically. 

For the first time in their long and firm friend- 
ship the boys seemed almost on the point of quar- 
reling but Lucile, as always, stepped in between. 

“I don’t believe either of you has noticed my 


Lucile’s Discovery 123 

great discovery,” she said, looking from Phil to 
Jessie. “And Jessie’s actually sitting on one of 
them — it’s very discouraging.” 

Jessie jumped up with a little scream and looked 
anxiously about her. 

“Goodness,” she cried, “what do you mean, 
Lucy? Was I sitting on a bug or a grasshopper 
— the woods are full of them — ” 

“Goodness,” wailed Lucile, sitting down re- 
signedly upon a little hummock in the earth, 
“worse and worse and more of it. At least Jack 
didn’t call them bugs!” 

“Oh, look at the old tubs,” said Phil, joy- 
fully, apparently noticing the boats for the first 
time. “Gee, they must have come out of the 
ark !” 


CHAPTER XI 

WEIRD MUSIC 

The morning dawned goldenly. Sunlight 
sparkled on the lake, birds sang, soft breezes whis- 
pered through the trees and still the boys and 
girls slept on — both camps were wrapped in 
silence. 

The long journey, the excitement of the night 
before, the gypsy boy upon the road and last, but 
not least, the excitement of making camp and the 
long swim in the afternoon, had completely tired 
them out and they were sleeping the sleep of ex- 
haustion. 

Not that any one of them had admitted feeling 
tired — where will you find the young person who 
will? In fact, they felt greatly disappointed at 
not being able to have the big camp fire they had 
planned, but Mrs. Wescott had insisted and — 
there was an end of it. 

“You will feel ever so much more in the mood 


124 


Weird Music 


125 


for it, to-morrow,” she had said, “and meanwhile, 
we will have a chance to look the country over and 
have something of interest to tell.” 

So, reluctantly, they had obeyed, thinking in 
their disappointment that Morpheus had forever 
forsaken them, only to be wooed by that gentle 
god into the soundest and sweetest of slumbers — 
five minutes later. 

Now, curiously enough, Jessie was the first to 
awake. Seeing Lucile still asleep, she cautiously 
screwed round to bring Evelyn within her range 
of vision and screwing too far, lost her balance, 
coming with a loud thud upon the floor. 

Both Lucile and Evelyn opened their eyes, 
rubbed them and regarded Jessie with interest. 

“Behold, the human alarm clock,” cried Evelyn. 
“Falls out of bed every morning promptly at 
seven — ” 

“No, Evelyn, dear, you’re all wrong,” said 
Lucile, twinkling. “Jessie’s just been reading that 
new book Amy brought with her on how to re- 
duce. It says that falling out of bed has a great 
beautifying effect upon the figure.” 


126 Lucile on the Heights 

“Evens off all the bumps and things, I sup- 
pose, ” said Evelyn, innocently. “Only I’d sug- 
gest that you wait till you get home Jessie — you’d 
have further to fall and so get results sooner. 
Look out — that’s my best brush.” 

“You don’t suppose I’d send you anything but 
the best, do you?” queried the tormented one, 
sweetly, while Evelyn dodged the flying missile 
with a skill bom of long practice. “Lend me 
yours, Lucy — I’ll have better luck next time.” 

“No you don’t,” said Lucile, hiding her own 
brush beneath the covers. “It cost my Dad a lot? 
of money and I’m not going to have it wasted.” 

“Oof,” grunted Evelyn, “that was a bad one. 
I’m going to decamp while there’s still time. 
Jessie, hand me my bathing suit — there’s a dear, 
good girl. No — not one stocking — I said the suit.” 

So after a great deal of pleading on Evelyn’s 
part and a good deal of teasing on Jessie’s the 
suit was finally acquired. As usual, their hilarity 
aroused the rest of the camp and shouts and 
laughter sounded all about them. 

As they emerged into the brilliant sunshine, they 


Weird Music 


127 


were joined one by one by the other girls and 
all started down to the water in the gayest of 
moods. 

After the dip came breakfast and after break- 
fast, the serious matter of squad formation. Not 
one of the girl’s present but would have preferred 
to make one of Lucile’s squad, but she could not 
lead them all. 

At last it was arranged — Evelyn, Marion, Mar- 
garet and Gertrude Church in Lucile’s squad while 
the rest of the girls were divided up under the 
leadership of Jessie, Marjorie and Elizabeth Grey, 
another of the girls who had distinguished her- 
self by enthusiastic work in the camp fire. 

“Oh, I’m so glad, Lucy, dear,” said Margaret, 
surreptitiously hugging her idol. “I’d have been 
perfectly miserable under any other girl — although 
I love them all, of course. Now the summer will 
be just one long, good time.” 

“I hope so, Peggy, dear,” Lucile looked fondly 
down into the flower-like face — somehow Mar- 
garet always seemed younger to her than she 
really was — “At least, I’m going to do my best 


128 Lucile on the Heights 

to make it the very happiest summer you ever 
spent. Oh, I love you, little Margaret.” 

Margaret’s eyes filled suddenly with tears and 
she hid her face against Lucile, clinging to her 
passionately. 

“Oh, Lucy,” she murmured. It was her tacit 
confession of what the girls had so long suspected. 
“Oh, Lucy — I want to be happy!” 

The little scene might have seemed strange to 
anyone not in the secret but Jessie would have 
understood. 

The next hour was filled with busy preparation 
for their hiking expeditions. Each squad was to 
take lunch and hike at its leisure. 

A committee from the boys’ camp had waited 
upon them earlier in the morning to learn their 
plans for the day and upon being informed polite- 
ly, but very, very firmly, that their presence 
would not be required till evening when they 
might be permitted to attend the council fire, had 
retired in high dudgeon, inquiring of each other 
whether that wasn’t a nice note and muttering 
various ominous threats about getting even. 


Weird Music 


129 


“Boys never can understand,” Lucile had re- 
marked, exchanging a glance of amusement with 
Jessie, “how girls can actually prefer to do things 
without them. It’s good for their conceit to press 
the point home, sometimes.” 

Jessie laughed, then coming over, put an arm 
fondly about Lucile’s shoulders. 

“The only blot upon my happiness, Lucy,” she 
whispered, “is the fact that we won’t be able to 
go exploring together as we did that first summer. 
If it weren’t traitorous to the camp fire, I’d al- 
most wish I hadn’t become a torch bearer. I 
won’t know what to do without you.” 

“Well, that’s part of the penalty we have to pay 
for being ambitious,” said Lucile, whimsically. 
“After all, we’ll meet at night and think of the 
funny stories we will have to tell. Is that our 
guardian calling? Good luck, Jessie, dear — and 
see that you behave yourself!” 

After which amid a great deal of fun and mix- 
up of lunch baskets, the girls shouted gay fare- 
wells to one another and started off in different 
directions, carrying their very necessary compasses 
with them. 


130 Lucile on the Heights 

“For to be lost in the wilderness,” remarked 
Marion, stopping to untangle a twig from her 
dark hair, “would not be very funny. ,, 

“It would be funnier for you than for the rest 
of us,” said Evelyn, ruefully eyeing the lunch 
hamper Marion was temporarily carrying. “I 
can imagine lots of things sadder than being lost 
in a wilderness — with some lunch — ” 

“As long as the lunch lasted,” chuckled Lucile. 

“Which wouldn’t be five minutes in the present 
company,” added Margaret. 

“Speak for yourself,” Marion was beginning 
when Lucile called out a sharp warning. 

“Look out,” she said, “this place is full of 
poison ivy. We’ll have to go around it.” Suiting 
the action to the words she skirted the dangerous 
spot and came suddenly and unexpectedly upon 
a small brook almost hidden by the dense foilage. 

It was a very pretty, modest little brook, pur- 
suing its obscure way with a cheeriness and good 
humor that might point a lesson to many of us. 

Birds came to drink of it and sing to it, squirrels 
chattered noisily in the branches of the trees above 


Weird Music 


131 


it, sunshine danced in its ever moving, ever rip- 
pling water and the liquid murmur of its under- 
tone seemed to chant eternal praises to the magic 
mystery of summer. 

It was lovely, so lovely that the girls, ever at- 
tuned to the beauty of nature, stood still and gazed 
with eyes that shone and quickened breath. 

“The beauty there is in the world for all of us,” 
murmured Lucile, in a philosophic mood, “if we 
only know how to find it.” 

“If we are only taught to find it,” corrected 
Margaret, softly, with that strange insight so far 
beyond her years which had always caused the 
girls to wonder while they loved her. 

“There was a time,” she added, taking Lucile’s 
hand and rubbing her soft cheek thoughtfully 
against it, “when I wouldn’t have seen anything 
beautiful in this. It would have made me angry — 
just because it was so perfect and I — wasn’t — ” 

Lucile caught the girl to her with a sharp cry 
of protest, while the others gathered around with 
that softened expression that always came when 
Margaret spoke in that tone. 


132 Lucile on the Heights 

Margaret had been lame — they who had always 
been well and strong could know nothing of that. 
They could only sympathize and hope by unfail- 
ing consideration and gentleness to make her for- 
get that such a time had ever existed. 

“I thought we were going to forget that,” Lu- 
cile spoke reproachfully. “We agreed to, you 
know.” 

Margaret shook her head slowly. 

“I don’t want to forget it,” she said. “Why 
should I? Father said once that all happiness was 
founded upon comparison and when I remember 
what my life was before you girls found me and 
what it is now, I love you twice as much. So you 
see I don’t intend to forget it,” she finished, de- 
cidedly. 

Lucile laughed unsteadily. 

“All right,” she said, “have it your own way. 
Only tell me one thing — there isn’t one little bit 
of shadow in the sunshine to-day, is there?” 

For the fraction of a second Margaret seemed 
to hesitate, then added, with a gayety that did 
not quite ring true, 


Weird Music 


133 


“Why of course there isn’t. Why I haven’t 
seen any shadow in so long I wouldn’t recognize 
it if you labelled some and brought it to me.” 

For the next hour Lucile was extraordinarily 
thoughtful and her thoughts were puzzled and a 
little unhappy. Why did things always happen 
just the last way you wanted them to, she re- 
flected rebelliously. 

Here was Margaret, whom she loved as she 
would a younger sister in love with David Cath- 
cart, who, for his part had been at no pains to 
conceal a very decided preference for her own 
unworthy self. 

“Though why in the world he should, I don’t 
know,” she concluded. “I’m no nicer to him than 
I am to anyone else — in fact, there have been times 
when I’ve been possibly rude to him but nothing 
seems to make any difference.” 

And now if he came up to the camp this sum- 
mer as he certainly would for the simple reason 
that she was beginning to wish he wouldn’t, mat- 
ters couldn’t fail to be complicated. 

If something would only happen to keep him in 


134 Lucile on the Heights 

town — she had heard that there was an epidemic 
of mumps in the city. Perhaps he would get 
them ! She smiled to herself in spite of her 
trouble and reflected that in all probability he 
would come anyway — doctors always recommend- 
ed country air for everything. 

Well, if he did come it might be the best thing 
that could happen. Margaret would be disillu- 
sioned — even young vikings with leonine heads 
and shoulders couldn’t keep their looks and the 
mumps at the same time — . 

Then something that Evelyn said brought her 
out of her reverie with a start and she realized 
for the first time the trend the conversation had 
taken. 

"I’ve wondered and wondered,” Evelyn was 
saying, “but it never seems to get me anywhere. 
I even dream of it at night and wake up shiver- 
ing. I never did like mysteries.” 

"It’s gotten on my nerves, too,” said Marion, 
"but everybody seemed so happy I hated to spoil 
the fun. It does seem mighty queer that the man, 
whoever he was, should come into the house at 


Weird Music 


135 


that time of night and go out without touching 
anything.” >. 

“And Lucy’s being so sure he was in the room 
with us,” added Margaret, lowering her voice al- 
most to a whisper, “makes me feel like the prince 
in ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ when he woke to 
find the mad hermit standing over him, sharpen- 
ing his knife — ” 

Marion screamed and Evelyn clapped her hands 
over her ears. 

“Margaret,” she cried, “what an awful com- 
parison. I won’t sleep for a week now, thinking 
about it.” 

“We mustn’t think about it.” Lucile’s voice was 
quiet but she had turned rather pale. “What’s the 
use when there isn’t any possible way of solving 
the mystery. Only — I suppose I oughtn’t to say 
it — it sounds absurd — but I feel as if that mid- 
night visitor of ours and the gypsy boy had some- 
thing in common. Probably,” she finished, with 
a deprecatory laugh, “it’s simply because they 
were both mysterious.” 

“But there must be something that makes you 


136 Lucile on the Heights 

think so,” said Evelyn, decidedly. “You’re not 
apt to think things without some reason, Lucy.” 

“Perhaps this is the exception that proves the 
rule,” laughed Lucile, anxious to turn the conver- 
sation into lighter channels. “By the way, who 
wants some lunch?” 

If the suggestion was a ruse the effect was 
instantaneous. 

“The lunch, the lunch,” cried Evelyn. “Lucy, 
dear, you always were a mind reader.” 

“And here’s a spot furnished by the gods for 
the purpose.” Margaret gayly indicated a flat rock, 
ensconsed in a setting of mossy bank. Flowers, 
too, smiled at them from unexpected places, 
drenching the warm, pungent air with their per- 
fume, while the sunlight filtering through the 
trees made dancing patches of light and shade 
upon the ground beneath. It was indeed an ideal 
spot and the girls pounced upon it eagerly. 

“Goodness, how romantic,” said Ruth Church, 
who had recently discovered a poetic tendency in 
her nature and had immediately and unhesitating- 
ly dubbed it the divine spark. “Let’s make 


Weird Music 137 

wreaths of flowers and make believe we’re all 
Dianas in an enchanted forest.” 

‘'You can do the Dianering for the whole party, 
Gertrude,” said Evelyn, delving hungrily into the 
hamper while the other girls no less hungrily 
ranged themselves about her. "Here, Peggy, you 
spread the cloth while I help Lucy hand out things. 
Come on, Gertrude, which is it to be — Diana or 
the lunch?” 

Much as we regret to admit it, poesy surrendered 
to appetite and Gertrude joined in with a will that 
did credit to her youth and health. 

"Ambrosia, nectar, was never like these sand- 
wiches,” Lucile was declaiming, a sandwich 
clenched tightly in each hand, when there came the 
interruption which changed the whole summer for 
them. 

Sweet and clear and exquisitely haunting — like 
the music of another sphere — there came to them 
on the wings of the perfume-laden air, the 
strains of a violin. 

Gently, insistently, like moonlight shimmering 
on the vastness of the ocean came the deep, sono- 


138 Lucile on the Heights 

rous cadences, then, while the girls held their 
breath to listen, the music changed, became lighter, 
more joyful, broke into the exquisite freedom of 
a summer morning, swelled to the pride the glory, 
the passion of noonday. Then, suddenly the 
martial music ceased and in its place a pleading, 
minor melody, embodying in its exquisite plaint- 
iveness all the tragedy of the universe. 

The music fluttered, wavered and melted into 
silence. 

Toward them through the trees, stumbling rath- 
er than walking, white head bowed, bow still upon 
his violin, came the musician. 


CHAPTER XII 

MORE MYSTERY 

The girls scrambled to their feet scarcely know- 
ing whether to stand their ground or run away 
from this strange apparition. Instinctively they 
glanced at Lucile and her slight gesture meant — 
“stay.” 

The old man came on a little, seeming not aware 
of their presence, then, raising his eyes, stopped 
short in bewilderment. 

Four half-startled young girls in this lonesome 
spot — how came they there? His slow gaze trav- 
elled from one to the other as though in each he 
hoped to find an answer to his question — while 
they, in their return studied him. 

He was a picturesque figure, this old musician 
who had come so suddenly upon them out of the 
forest, and something warm and pitying stirred 
in Lucile as she looked at him. 

Slight of figure, of average height, yet with a 


139 


140 Lucile on the Heights 

suppleness and grace of poise that seemed only to 
belong to youth, one would have said. Yet he 
was old — white hair of amazing vitality and lus- 
tre glistened in the sun like strands of silver — 
hair heavy and thick and soft, falling from his 
Jovian head far below his shoulders — framing a 
face patrician in its purity of contour. From be- 
neath a broad, high forehead shone eyes startling 
not only in the blackness of their color but in 

their curious sadness of expression — a profound 

/ 

melancholy which seemed to harmonize with the 
tragic sweetness of his music. 

These same eyes, roving around the group of 
wondering young faces, stopped when they met 
Lucile’s and smiled. As Lucile had never been 
known to resist a smile, the sunshine of her own 
broke forth and she spoke impulsively. 

“You are — tired,” she said sweetly and a little 
hesitatingly, scarcely knowing how to address 
him — then added, with unerring tact, “your music 
charmed us so we forgot everything else. Would 
you — perhaps — rest a little — then — play for us — * 
some more?” 


More Mystery 141 

Again the man smiled and something in the 
sweetness and pathos of that smile brought tears 
to the girls’ eyes — they couM not have told why — 
save that it contrasted so strikingly with the trag- 
edy in his eyes. 

“You liked my music?” he queried, taking a 
step forward and raising the violin to position. 
“Yes, I will play for you — what is there in the 
world but music?” 

He raised the bow to the strings and for the 
first time the girls saw he was trembling with 
fatigue. 

“Please — not yet,” begged Lucile, forgetting 
diffidence for the moment at this proof of weak- 
ness. “You are tired and perhaps — if you have 
travelled far — hungry. We — we have more than 
we want and — and — if you would help us — ” her 
voice trailed off and diffidence returned over- 
whelmingly as the old man lowered his violin — 
gazed vaguely from her to the lunch she had indi- 
cated, then back to her again. Once more that 
strange smile in which the eyes took no part. 

“Tired?” he said, as though considering. “Yes, 


142 Lucile on the Heights 

I have travelled very many miles and have not 
eaten — but I never think of that.” 

Evelyn gasped audibly and her respect for the 
stranger rose a hundred points, to say nothing of 
her curiosity! 

“But you will think of it now,” Lucile was 
pleading, with that pretty deference she always 
paid her elders. “We would all feel very badly 
if you refused. See,” she indicated a little moss- 
covered indentation in the bank which she had 
recently occupied herself, “nature must have 
known you were coming and prepared a place for 
you.” 

The pretty compliment had its effect and the 
old musician moved forward slowly, while his 
eyes remained fixed upon Lucile’ s pretty, pleading 
face. 

“The pretty little lady is very kind,” he said, 
quaintly, sinking upon the grass and laying his 
violin and bow carefully beside him. “I did not 
know I was tired — I get lost in the music and — 
and — ” he passed his hand across his forehead in 
a vague gesture of helplessness, “I seem to — for- 
get—” 


143 


More Mystery 

“Yes, music does that to me, too,” said Lucile, 
helping him meanwhile unassumingly to a chicken 
leg, two buttered biscuits and a cup of steaming 
coffee from the thermos bottle. “Music,” she 
continued, dreamily, delightedly conscious of the 
way the chicken leg was disappearing, “makes you 
forget everything that isn’t beautiful — makes you 
just remember the sky and the trees and the way 
the flowers grow — ” 

“Ah, little girl,” the old man leaned forward, 
his eyes glowing with enthusiasm, “you speak like 
— like — the spirit of music.” 

Lucile flushed, touched and not a little embar- 
rassed. 

“That — that is the prettiest compliment I ever 
received,” she said, softly. “I shall never forget 
it. Will you — will you have another biscuit?” 

From that moment began a deep and strong 
affection between this oddly assorted couple — the 
old wandering musician with the patrician face 
and tragic eyes, and the lovely young girl with 
the sweet mouth and eyes of enthusiasm. 

For an hour the old man lingered while the 


144 Lucile on the Heights 

girls fell more and more in love with his quaint 
personality and he fell more and more under the 
spell of their gentle ministrations. 

Then at last, his eyes happening to rest upon 
his violin, he scrambled hurriedly to his feet. 

“I forgot,” he said, passing his hand with that 
same curious, vague gesture across his forehead. 
“The children — they will be waiting.” 

“The children,” Lucile repeated puzzled. 

“Yes, the children,” he agreed, simply, then, as 
though explanation would be superfluous, raised 
his violin and drew the bow gently across the 
strings. 

“I will play for you,” he said. 

He played, and playing, seemed once more to 
be wrapped about by that strange forgetfulness 
of time and place. As though the girls did not 
exist for him — as indeed at the time they did not 
— he turned slowly about and walked hesitatingly, 
dreamily away from them into the forest — silver 
head bowed, bow still drawing magic music from 
the treasure of his violin. 

Farther and farther off he went till the foliage 


More Mystery 145 

hid his slender form and gleaming head — on and 
on, till the sweet strains came to them like fairy 
music wafted on the fabric of a dream — on, on, 
fainter and sweeter still, till, merging in the song 
of birds, the rippling of the water, seemed sudden- 
ly become a part of them and fluttered into silence. 

For a full minute after the music had stopped 
the girls remained motionless, lips parted, eyes 
wet, listening breathlessly for another note — then 
realizing that their new-found friend was really 
gone, turned to one another wonderingly. 

“Lucy,” cried Evelyn, “who in the world do you 
suppose he is? We may never see him again.” 

“Perhaps not,” said Lucile softly, a wonderful 
light in her eyes. “He must be a magician — - 
no ordinary mortal ever made me feel like that.” 

“No ordinary mortal could play like that,” said 
Margaret with conviction. 

“Goodness, that’s nothing,” Evelyn retorted 
briskly, “I could have told you he wasn’t ordi- 
nary the moment he said that eating didn’t interest 
him. No, you needn’t laugh — that’s always a 
sure sign.” 


146 Lucile on the Heights 

“But he was so handsome,” marvelled Lucile, 
“and he was certainly a gentleman. Oh, girls, I 
do wish we could capture him and take him to the 
council fire to-night. The girls might believe our 
story — but the boys — never.” 

“Methinks I even now can hear them scoff,” 
Evelyn agreed. “However, all we can do is to 
tell them the truth — at least our guardian would 
believe.” 

“Bless her,” said Lucile, fondly. “But, oh, girls, 
here’s another mystery. I wonder if all moun- 
tains are as full of them as these.” 

“A wandering musician,” said Margaret, dream- 
ily, “who comes from nowhere to vanish into the 
unknown. He spoke of children, too. If it 
didn’t seem awfully like prying into another 
peoples’ affairs, I’d suggest that we follow him 
and find out who they are. Then we might have 
something even more startling to report at the fire 
to-night.” 

“They’ll think we’d been dreaming,” said Mar- 
ion, with conviction. “And if it weren’t broad 
daylight I’d be tempted to agree with them.” 


More Mystery 147 

“Well, I wouldn’t/’ said Evelyn, ruefully. “It 
was all very well for that old musician to say he 
never thought of eating but he didn’t practice 
what he preached. I had my eye on that juicy 
piece of chicken and of course that was the first 
thing Lucile picked out to give him.” 

“Which — the eye or the chicken?” queried Mar- 
ion, busying herself with the repacking. “I 
wouldn’t be so careless with my eyes if I were 
you.” 

“Goodness, that joke came out of the ark,” 
said Evelyn, good-naturedly. “If you’ll hand me 
that cover Gertrude, I’ll do up this box. When 
do we start on new adventure, Lucy?” 

“Right away,” said Lucile, springing to her 
feet. “Perhaps we’ll find even more to tell them 
to-night.” 

But this time her prophecy proved wrong. 
Nothing more of interest happened to them during 
that long, delightful afternoon and it was not till 
toward the very end of it that they turned their 
eager steps once more toward camp. 

A council fire — nothing more romantic has ever 


148 Lucile on the Heights 

been acknowledged in the heart of a camp fire 

girl. It was Lucile’s picture of that afternoon on 

* 

the observation platform of the flying train, about 
to come true. 

The white tents, revealed flashingly, uncertain- 
ly in the weird fantastic light of the fire — the 
ruby glow in the water, the flickering stars, the 
moon, the whispering breeze — . 

“And to cap it all,” breathed Lucile, voicing 
the general sentiment, “we have a wonderful 
story to tell them — ” 

“That’s probably what they’ll call it,” said 
Evelyn, ruefully. “With the emphasis on the 
story!” 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE GYPSY TRAIL 

The girls were surprised upon approaching the 
camp to find all the young people assembled and 
a general air of excitement prevailing. Two or 
three of the boys were gesticulating wildly and 
their audience was listening to the details of the 
adventure they were narrating with literally open 
mouths. 

Screened by intervening foliage, the girls 
watched wonderingly for a moment the scene of 
confusion, then, led by Lucile, burst in upon it. 

Their advent was greeted by a score of saluta- 
tions and the group opened to let them in. 

“Hello, girls,” Phil explained. “You’re just in 
time to hear the story of our adventures. You 
see,” he continued, “Jack and I went further 
than we intended and just — ” 

“Please, Phil,” Lucile implored, “don't tell 
the story now. Save it for the council fire, won’t 
you ?” 


149 


150 Lucile on the Heights 

Phil hesitated, frowned, while the others looked 
disappointed. 

“I don’t see why,” he was beginning when Mrs. 
Wescott, coming softly up behind them, took a 

hand. 

“Lucile is right,” she said gently. “A story 
gains a great deal by proper surroundings, just as 
a picture is enhanced by the beauty of its back- 
ground. Besides, there is supper to be eaten and 
cleared away.” 

“As usual, my wife is right,” observed Mr. 
Jack Wescott, sauntering up to them, hands in 
pockets and fun and good-fellowship emanating 
from every inch of his six feet two. “What’s the 
matter with you fellows — have you forgotten its 
supper time — or are you sick?” 

“Same thing,” grinned Phil. “Also, speaking 
for my compatriots, I might say we are neither. 
How about it, fellows?” 

Of course they assented vociferously and the 
boys and girls scattered to their respective camps. 
Jessie ran up to Lucile and the two girls met 
with as much fervor as though they had been 
parted a year instead of a day. 


151 


The Gypsy Trail 

“Make believe you don’t look good to me, Lu- 
cile Payton,” said Jessie, holding her friend off 
and beaming upon her. “I guess this is about 
the first day in three years we haven’t spent to- 
gether. I missed you horribly.” 

Lucile hugged back with fervor and a little con- 
trition. In the excitements of the day she had not 
missed Jessie as much as she ordinarily would 
have done — there hadn’t been time. 

As they entered the tent together she found her- 
self wondering where Jack could be. He had not 
been in the group, he was nowhere to be seen and 
the fact vaguely troubled her. If he had wanted 
to see her very much — but she gave herself a 
little angry shake — she was actually in danger of 
becoming sentimental. 

Two hours later a spark, the flickering of a 
light, the quick updarting of flames and the coun- 
cil fire was alight. 

Softly, noiselessly, clad in their full ceremonials, 
the girls filed out from the shadows into the danc- 
ing forelight, singing the swaying mystic chant 
to fire. 


152 Lucile on the Heights 

It was a striking sight, a beautiful sight and 
the boys, seated farther back in the shadows, 
looked wonderingly on, seeming to see for the 
first time these girls that they knew so well. 

It had been understood that they were not to 
join the circle until the preliminary rites had been 
observed, so they merely sat and watched, patient- 
ly awaiting their moment. 

As a matter of fact, it came sooner than they 
expected, so absorbed were they in the pleasure 
of contemplation. Nevertheless, at the guardian’s 
first words of invitation they joined the fire circle 
as though moved by some magic power. How a 
space of ten feet can be covered in the fraction of 
a second does indeed, give food for speculation. 
However, for the moment it suffices to say that 
the feat was successfully accomplished. 

Then began what the boys would have termed 
“the real fun of the evening.” 

One by one the group about the fire were called 
upon to relate their experiences and one after an- 
other they merrily complied. 

Some of the incidents were really interesting, 


The Gypsy Trail 153 

some merely funny, but none were tame — these 
happy young people had never learned the trick 
of being tame. 

However, not till Phil started upon his narra- 
tive did they feel the first thrill of real excitement. 
Then they leaned forward eagerly, for Phil pos- 
sessed the art of the real story teller. 

“Well, in the first place,” he began, “we fellows 
were rather sore at the way you girls had thrust 
us upon our own resources as it were. We’re 
pretty tame, but somehow we didn’t relish the idea 
of being left home to wash the dishes while the 
gentler and weaker, albeit more charming sex,” 
this with a bow to the girl on either side of him, 
“packed off in search of adventure. Well, to con- 
tinue. Not being satisfied — as I said before — with 
the conditions dictated by our charming neigh- 
bors, we resolved to do a little prospecting on our 
own account.” 

“Well,” they queried, leaning forward with 
quickened pulses. “You found something?” 

“Did we?” said Phil, his eager young face il- 
lumined by the firelight. “Well, I don’t know,” he 


154 Lucile on the Heights 

added, pausing to consider, “whether you could 
just exactly call it finding — seeing would be more 
the word. Finding with us fellows generally 
means keeping.” 

“You said something then, old man,” said Jack, 
his hand seeking Lucile’ s under cover of the dark- 
ness. “What we find we keep.” 

Was it interest in Phil’s story or mere indiffer- 
ence that made Lucile forget to withdraw her 
hand? We wonder! 

“Well, we were just piking along,” Phil was 
saying, in his usual easy slang, “when we heard 
peculiar sounds in the near distance and decided 
to investigate.” 

“How can a distance be near,” Jessie objected. 
“It’s just about as sensible as saying ‘He stopped 
on the edge of the brink’.” 

There was a ripple of amusement and Phil 
looked truculent. 

“You can say a far distance,” he argued, “so 
I fail to see why the opposite isn’t permissible. 
In fact, I contend — ” 

“Oh, get on with the story, Phil,” Jack inter- 


The Gypsy Trail 155 

rupted. “You’re getting off the straight and nar- 
row path. If you don’t proceed, I’ll do it for 
you.” 

“Shake a leg, Phil,” cried one of the younger 
boys. “I’ll take care of Jessie.” 

For answer to this unspeakable impertinence, 
Phil merely glared, but it had the effect of melt- 
ing the offender out of the lime light the fire made 
into the shadowy blur of the background. 

Then amid another ripple of irresistible laughter 
Phil proceeded with his narrative. 

“As I was saying,” he began defiantly, “we were 
disturbed by sounds in the near distance and im- 
mediately set out on a tour of investigation. We 
had not gone more than three or four hundred 
yards when we came upon the outskirts of a gypsy 
encampment.” 

“Ooh, nice,” gurgled Evelyn, the irrepressible. 
“Did you fine our gypsy boy?” 

Phil turned upon her with an expression of 
mingled amusement and chagrin. 

“There you go,” he said, “spoiling my climax 
of the story by guessing the point.” 


156 Lucile on the Heights 

It took them a moment to realize just what his 
words implied, then — 

“Phil,” cried Lucile, and Jack could feel her 
fingers tighten in his as she leaned forward, “do 
you mean to say you actually found that poor 
little fellow we ran down on the road the other 
day? What luck!” 

“I don’t know whether you’d call it that or not,” 
said Phil, ruefully. “Our advent seemed to be 
badly timed. How about it, Jack?” 

At the direct appeal, Jack roused himself from 
a prolonged and happy contemplation of Lucile in 
her ceremonial dress. He had really not heard a 
word of Phil’s story; in fact, at the moment rather 
resented its intrusion upon his thoughts. 

However, he roused himself long enough to 
reply, rather vaguely. “Very much so,” and im- 
mediately relapsed into his former state of semi- 
consciousness. 

Phil, seeing his condition, like a true friend 
turned the general attention to himself by con- 
tinuing the story: 

“You see they were just on the point of remov- 
ing their junk wagons from the vicinity.” 


157 


The Gypsy Trail 

“You mean they were breaking camp?” de- 
manded Lucile, then, without waiting for a reply 
to the first question, delivered another. “How in 
the world c|id you find our cripple, then?” 

“Didn’t,” was the cryptic reply. “Just caught 
a glimpse of him as he was being pushed into a 
covered wagon by that big brute of a gypsy who 
was with him the first time.” 

“And you let them go?” cried Jessie, excitedly. 
“You let them get away without doing a thing to 
stop them?” 

“What would you?” queried Phil, patiently. 
“We could hardly hold up the whole caravan, 
there being only two of us — unarmed at that. 
If they hadn’t been hitting the trail, we might very 
possibly have thought up some scheme to spirit 
the poor little shaver away without attracting un- 
due attention to ourselves. As it was, we were 
helpless.” 

“Did you let it go at that?” asked Mr. Wescott, 
speaking for the first time. “Or did you try for 
some clue to the gypsy’s new location?” 

“Did we try?” cried Phil, turning to his ques- 


158 Lucile on the Heights 

tioner. “Why, Jack and I trailed that confounded 
outfit for miles — that's why we were so ever- 
lastingly late getting back. It would take a mind- 
reader to tell where they were going but they 
seemed in an almighty hurry to get there. Jack 
and I had to run some of the time to keep up 
with them." 

The listeners drew a long breath, then broke 
into a clamor of questions and surmises, only 
stopping when they had exhausted not only their 
imaginations, but themselves as well. 

“Some time or other we’ll hunt down that out- 
fit/’ Mr. Jack Wescott decided with a grim setting 
of his jaw. “If only for reasons of humanity, it’s 
up to us to get that little chap and make a life- 
sized, honest-to-goodness boy out of him, instead 
of a shrinking, terrified little animal.’’ 

“Hooray," shouted Phil, with enthusiasm. 
“How about it, fellows — any conscientious object- 
ors present?" 

The insinuation was hooted to scorn and im- 
mediately a dozen impossible schemes were pro- 
posed, by which the object of their humane inten- 


The Gypsy Trail 159 

tions was to be plucked from midair and in some 
mysterious way landed in their midst. 

Of course it was all ridiculous but the red- 
blooded enthusiasm of the girls and boys in the 
project spoke well for the successful conclusion 
of it. 

When order had been restored and the taking 
of reports once more begun, they listened with 
more or less marked inattention to the compara- 
tively uninteresting adventures. 

To them it seemed that the climactic point of the 
evening had been passed and their thoughts flew 
back again and again to Phil's graphic account of 
the gypsy band. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE CURTAIN LIFTS 

Yet when Lucile spoke they instinctively list- 
ened, gathering from her first word that she also 
had something of interest to relate. It was strange 
how everyone listened at all times to Lucile. There 
was something magnetic in her personality, in the 
bird-like tilt of her pretty head, in the naive humor 
of her phrasing. 

Margaret had once said of Lucile when in this 
mood, “Lucy sparkles so when she talks that half 
the time I forget to hear what she’s saying, just 
for looking at her.” 

It may be added that Jack suffered markedly 
from the same complaint, often driving Lucile to 
depths of dispair by answering “no” when it 
should have been “yes.” 

“You don’t listen, you just look,” she had 
pouted once, to which he had whimsically replied, 
“Blindfold me, little Lucile, and I’ll listen to you 
forever!” 

160 


The Curtain Lifts 


161 


However, upon this eventful evening the young 
folks both looked and listened without interrup- 
tion or comment till she had finished. 

Even then, so graphic had been the recounting 
and so stunned were they with surprise at the 
strangeness and romance of it all that for a full 
minute no one spoke. 

Then it was Jessie who broke the silence. 

“Oh, Lucy, dear,” she murmured, “if I could 
just have been with you.” 

“That sure does take the cake,” cried Phil, while 
the others clamored approval. Jack, alone of them 
all, seemed to be struggling with some very differ- 
ent emotions. 

“You don’t go off on these excursions without 
me again,” he said, gripping her hand fiercely, 
“Gad, Lucile, if anything should happen to you — ” 

She favored him with a little grimace and turned 
back to the tense group about the fire. Mr. Wes- 
cott had begun to speak and there was an unusual 
quality in his voice that commanded attention. 
His face, vividly illumined in the firelight, bore 
a curious expression; half quizzical, half-serious, 


162 Lucile on the Heights 

as though he doubted his own wisdom in broaching 
the subject at all. 

“Girls and boys,” he began, “for a long time 
Mrs. Wescott and I have been piecing bits of evi- 
dence together, which have given us what may be 
— probably is — a purely fanciful result. How- 
ever, fanciful or true, it is surely interesting and 
in view of what you have discovered to-day, I am 
going to give you a sketch of our theory.” 

“Yes,” they prompted, eagerly, impatient of his 
pause. 

“When I was up here before,” he began, unable 
to keep all trace of excitement from his voice, 
“I was thrown into pretty close contact with the 
country folk hereabouts and naturally came to im- 
bibe a great deal of their folk lore, their myths 
and fables. So, at least, their stories seemed to 
me, for the cynical New Yorker becomes suspi- 
cious of the far-fetched tale and yearns, first, last 
and all the time, merely for the facts. 

“However, Lucile’ s strange encounter with the 
white-haired musician led me to believe that per- 
haps I was too quick to discredit their stories— 
one of them at least.” 


The Curtain Lifts 


163 


‘Then you knew there was such a person,” 
Lucile interposed eagerly. “I’m glad of that.” 

“I didn’t know anything about it,” he corrected 
her, “not until your story corroborated that of the 
mountain folk. If his story is true — and I feel 
considerably more inclined to credit it than I did 
formerly — it is a very unusual, very pathetic one.” 

“Gee, Mr. Wescott, go on,” cried Phil, the irre- 
pressible. “This is better than the classiest base- 
ball game going and when a fan says that he’s 
saying something. What did the old codger do — 
kill somebody and take up the fiddle to keep 
people away? If he played it the way I do,” he 
added with a chuckle, “he’d be safe for a life- 
time.” 

“If you had seen him and heard him play, you 
wouldn’t joke about him,” cried Lucile, and they 
turned to her, wondering at her heat. “He is no 
mere vagabond to be sneered at and made the 
butt for jokes. If I have ever met a gentleman, 
he was one and his music was the kind that 
stirs, inspires, saddens all in a breath, all in the 
drawing of the bow across the strings. I tell you, 
he was wonderful!” 


164 Lucile on the Heights 

“Now, I’m sure the story was true,” said Mr. 
Wescott, leaning forward eagerly. “Just that con- 
viction of yours, Lucile was the one little thing 
needed to convince me. Listen, you girls and 
boys and see if you blame me for doubting in the 
beginning.” 

He paused for a moment — only the crackling of 
the darting flames, the sighing of the wind through 
the forest could be heard and these seemed rather 
to intensify than dispel the silence. 

After a moment he continued, leaning forward 
to brush a glowing timber back into the flaming 
mass. 

“This is the story as it was told to me by old 
Peter Bingle himself — an old weather-beaten, gar- 
rulous rascal who has constituted himself gossip 
of the mountains and who can never be seen with- 
but a hideous black pipe clutched in the place where 
his teeth should be. I shouldn’t wonder,” he in- 
terrupted himself, a gleam of amusement in his 
eyes, “if it was the appearance of the story teller, 
rather than the story itself which made me dis- 
credit it so completely. However — to continue. 


The Gurtain Lifts 


165 


“Old Pete has it that this mountain musician 
whom Lucile has championed so warmly, was once 
a famous musician in Venice. It seemed the 
Venetians adored him — they would gather in 
crowds at the mention of his name, to be moved 
to laughter or tears by the power of his music. 
He was a Venetian himself, possessed of a lovable 
personality which won him almost as many friends 
as his violin. 

“Then, with his foot upon the topmost rung of 
the ladder of success, he met the beautiful young 
singer, who, after two short months of ardent 
courtship, he succeeded in making his wife. ,, 

“Swift work,” murmured Phil, but no one heard 
him — all eyes were fixed intently upon the speaker. 
The sharp cracking of a fagot made Lucille start 
nervously but a firm pressure of Jack’s fingers 
reassured her. 

“Well,” continued Mr. Wescott, warming to the 
story, inspired by the great and all-absorbing inter- 
est of his audience, “the thing happened that so 
often happens in a marriage of temperament after 
so short a courtship. The young wife was ambi- 


166 Lucile on the Heights 

tious — for herself — and the young musician, ador- 
ing her madly, sought to gratify her every whim. 

“The first real break occurred when her eyes 
wandered from the narrow confines of Venice, 
across the broad Atlantic, to the great American 
republic where a rich and tolerant people would 
give her wider scope for the development of her 
genius. 

“The poor young Venetian was torn by con- 
flicting emotions. He had been born in Italy, had 
grown up there, won reputation, fame — his life 
was rooted in the very soil. 

“Yet, if he stayed, his wife would go and while 
he adored his Venice, he adored his wife ten times 
more. So he said good-bye to everything he had 
known and came with her to the United States.” 

He paused again and the girls waited with 
marked impatience for him to continue. 

“Well, the ruin of genius is always sad,” he 
went on, musingly, “and if the story is authentic, 
his was doubly so. 

“Shortly after they set foot upon American soil 


The Curtain Lifts 


167 


their son was born — a sickly, delicate child from 
the first. Yet, as his wife with her new hosts of 
friends and flatterers grew away from him and he 
himself failed to have the successes of the old 
days, the young musician transferred all his affec- 
tion to the boy. 

“Well, the climax came when after a quarrel, 
provoked by her, his wife left him with scarcely 
a word of regret. They say it was then that his 
hair began to turn white.” 

“Then,” cried Evelyn, excitedly, “that accounts 
for the strange impression we had of his being 
both young and old at the same time. His hair 
was white, the most beautiful white I ever saw, 
yet he carried himself like a young man.” 

Mr. Wescott gazed at her curiously. 

“Everything you say seems to bear out old 
Pete’s story,” he said, “yet I remember how in- 
credulous I was at the time. It almost makes me 
ashamed of my skepticism.” 

“Is that all?” interrupted Jessie, impatiently. 
“No, it can’t be for we haven’t heard yet how he 


168 Lucile on the Heights 

happened to come to the mountains. Please go 
on. 

“ You’d think he had had almost trouble enough,” 
Mr. Wescott continued, obligingly, “but it seems 
fate hadn’t gotten in all its innings yet. 

“When the boy was ten years old he developed 
hip trouble and the doctor ordered out door life 
and open air as the only possible cure for him. 
Luckily the Venetian had had a good deal of 
money in the old days and he still had enough 
to support himself and the boy until such time as 
the lad’s recovered health would permit their re- 
turn to the city. 

“It seems the boy had inherited his father’s pas- 
sion for music and for awhile the two were very 
happy. Father and son, playing together in the 
dusk of a summer’s evening would draw people 
for miles around — both music lovers and those 
who came out of curiosity. 

“Then one day the boy silently, weirdly, inex- 
plicably, disappeared.” 

“Oh,” they cried, pityingly, and Lucile added, 


The Curtain Lifts 


169 


imploringly, “Oh, Mr. Wescott, that can’t be all — 
they must have found him.” 

“Not a sign or a clue,” he denied, gravely. 
“They say the musician became a little mad at 
that — the strain had been too great. 

“He started out with his violin to find the boy 
and since then has been roving the country side 
on his vague mission. Before he left one of the 
neighbors, a kindly woman who had loved the two 
and was heartily grieved at this new misfortune, 
offered to keep the house in order and the pantry 
well stocked with eatables, in case the boy should 
come home.” 

“Oh, it’s pitiful, pitiful,” cried Lucile, while 
two tears, gleaming red in the firelight rolled 
down her face unnoticed. “My poor musician — 
no wonder his music made me want to cry. Oh, 
can’t we find his boy for him?” 

Phil, who had been closely regarding Mr. Wes- 
cott during the story, suddenly jumped to his feet 
with a shout that startled them all. 

“You say that boy had hip disease,” he cried. 
“That means, of course, he’s lame — ” 


170 Lucile on the Heights 

“Phil,” cried Lucile, trembling with excitement, 
“that boy — the gypsy — oh, it can’t be — ” 

Then suddenly, to all of them came the dawn- 
ing of a great idea, like the lifting of a curtain 
upon the stage. 


CHAPTER XV 


JEDDIE IN A NEW ROLE 

*T can’t make myself believe we didn’t imagine 
it all, even yet,” said Jessie, dreamily. 

It was about a week after their momentous talk 
around the fire and the boys and girls were tramp- 
ing through the moss-carpeted, flower strewn aisle 
of trees toward the road where one of Branden- 
burg’s “old gasoline cars” was expected momently 
to arrive. 

Mr. Wescott had left instructions in the village 
that provisions and mail were to be brought in 
twice a week, as it would be impossible, even for 
our boys to cover the distance in less than two 
days. 

As this was only the second time they had re- 
ceived word from the outside world, even if it be 
via Brandenburg, our young folks were in a state 
of great and natural expectancy. 

“Well, I know it couldn’t have been a dream,” 


172 Lucile on the Heights 

said Lucile in answer to Jessie’s remark, “for the 
simple reason that I’ve hardly slept for a week. 
I’ve felt right along that the summer was going 
to be full of adventure, but who would have hoped 
for a drama like this?” 

“Gee, it’s great,” said Phil, enthusiastically. “If 
we could only make friends with the old man and 
then find his kid for him — ” 

“Hold on, there,” Jack interposed, “if we go on 
taking things for granted, we’re letting ourselves 
in for a lot of disappointment later on. How do 
we know that the cripple we ran down in the 
road has the slightest connection with the nut — 
I beg pardon, crazy musician, Lucile found in the 
woods?” 

“We didn’t find him — he found us,” Lucile 
corrected, demurely. “Besides,” she added, with 
more decision, “I won’t have you spoiling our 
perfectly good intentions. You know, the boy’s 
fright made us doubt all the time that he be- 
longed to that old gypsy. Now I’m positive he 
didn’t.” 

“Well, I sure hope you’re right,” said Jack, 


Jeddie in a New Role 


173 


earnestly. “The hard luck of that poor old fel- 
low has actually made me feel bad. I hate to 
see a man kicked when he's down.” 

“But he isn’t old,” Lucile protested, stoutly. 
“He can’t be over thirty-five, if he’s that and he 
has one of the finest faces you ever saw.” 

Jack studied her profile in silence for a moment 
— then said, whimsically, 

“Young, handsome and a maker of beautiful 
music. Now, I know I shan’t let you go roaming 
around alone.” 

Phil and Jessie laughed, while Lucile witn a 
little grimace, ran ahead to where the others were 
already assembled, awaiting the arrival of Bran- 
denburg’s best. 

“Oh, let’s go on and meet it,” she cried. 
“There’s no use waiting here. The car’s prob- 
ably broken down a dozen times and if we find it 
along the road we may be able to rescue some 
of the mail and a few of the eatables. Come on, 
don’t be lazy.” 

Lazy, lazy — on a morning like this! 

No one knows what cruel and unusual punish- 


174 Lucile on the Heights 

ment they might have meted to Lucile had she 
given them half a chance. As she was already 
half-way down the road — fleet of foot as any boy, 
they had no alternative but to accept her chal- 
lenge. 

Then followed half an hour when fun and good 
spirits were allowed free reign. With youth and 
health, the sun on your head and the wind in 
your face — what more is there to be desired? 
They could not have told. 

Then, a little over two miles from camp they 
found the machine as Lucile had predicted, stalled, 
with the lanky chauffeur stretched on his back, 
vainly seeking the cause of his misfortune. 

When Phil accosted him in familiar tones, he 
sat up, blinking at them miserably. 

“There ain’t nothin’ the matter with the durned 
thing,” he exploded, querulously. “It jes’ stopt 
like a balky boss an’ won’t go, nohow. I’m plumb 
sick of it.” 

“Well, it’s a relief to know that there’s nothing 
the matter with it,” said Jack, gravely, while the 
others tried vainly to keep their faces straight. 


Jeddie in a New Role 175 

“Strange how you get wrong impressions some- 
times — ” 

“See here, young feller,” the rustic assumed a 
beligerent attitude, “ef ye're try in' to make game 
o' me — ” 

“Not at all,” Jack assured him, blandly. “In 
fact, I’m going to prove myself the best friend 
you ever had. If you will be so good as to re- 
move your none too bulky person and allow me to 
insert mine in the vacancy thus made, I will en- 
deavor to prove my ability in the starting of fliv — 
I should say — excellent machines like yours. Per- 
mit me — ” and before the astonished and still 
truculent chauffeur could protest, Jack had shoved 
him to one side and had squirmed his way be- 
neath the car, till only his long legs bore testi- 
mony to his whereabouts. 

“Do be careful, Jack,” Lucile called, laughing 
with the others. Excellent machines like this are 
apt to be frisky — and you’re too young to die.” 

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Phil, walking in front 
of the strange absurd machine and placing one 
foot in dramatic fashion upon the front wheel. 
“While I live he shall not die — ” 


176 Lucile on the Heights 

“Phil,” cried Jessie, fearfully, “if it should 
start — ” 

“Such a chance,” said Phil, laughing at her 
while the others laughed at him. “Any fellow 
who can’t stop a flivver with one foot ought to be 
shot. How about it, old man — all right?” This 
to Jack as he emerged triumphant but dirty from 
his temporary retirement. 

“Sure,” he announced, cheerfully. “That’s all 
right, provided something else doesn’t break down 
before the darned thing starts. Got plenty of 
juice?” this last to the indignant chauffeur, who, 
without deigning to reply turned his back upon 
them and climbed to his seat. 

“Oh, wait a minute,” cried Lucile, suddenly 
struck by a happy thought. “Did you bring any 
mail?” 

His surly grunt being interpreted as an assent, 
he was promptly commanded to hand over, which 
he did with a civility conspicuous by its absence. 
However, they were too absorbed in the delight- 
ful business of assorting and distributing the let- 
ter.*? to notice its lack^ 


Jeddie in a New Role 177 

“Isn't this great?" Jessie hooked her arm in 
Lucile’s and fingered her five letters happily. 
“Why does a letter in the country mean as much 
fun as three when you're home? I’m sure I don't 
know which to open first. Choose one for me, 
Lucy." 

Lucile laughingly obeyed, then fell to with enthu- 
siasm upon her own satisfying little pile. 

The two from her father and mother she read 
over twice with a tender little smile on her lips. 
The others, though not as important, were inter- 
esting and they had already traversed three-fourths 
of the distance back to camp before she was aware 
of Jack walking silently by her side. 

“Oh, hello," she said, smiling rather vaguely. 
“Didn't you get any letters, Jack?" 

“Three,” he admitted, holding them up for her 
inspection, then shoving them carelessly into his 
pockets. “I got a good deal more enjoyment out 
of watching you read yours than in reading my 
own." 

after that, Lucile's eyes turned away from the 

They walked along in silence for a little time 


178 


Lucile on the Heights 


splendid young figure Jack made as he strode along 
at her side. They were alone, for Phil and Jessie 
had slipped quietly away some time ago, chuck- 
ling over Lucile’s preoccupation. 

“Wait till she wakes up and finds us gone and 
Jack there instead,” Jessie had whispered gleefully. 
“If I didn’t despise an eavesdropper, I’d be tempt- 
ed to hide behind a tree and watch. Poor old 
Jack — he’s having a hard time of it.” 

“Well, he isn’t the only one,” Phil had replied 
moodily, whereupon Jessie had promptly and dip- 
lomatically changed the subject. 

Now the victims of the conspiracy were begin- 
ning a little drama all their own. Lucile, to whom 
restraint of any kind had always been irksome, 
finding herself often confused and positively 
speechless before this strange thing that had sprung 
up between her and Jack — a thing that she had 
vainly tried to combat by ignoring — grew restive 
and a little resentful. 

Now she turned to Jack swiftly, the perplexity 
and irritation of her mood making itself felt in 
her tone. 


Jeddie in a New Role 


179 


“Oh, why don’t you say something?” she cried, 
petulantly. “You never used to be so tiresome, 
Jack.” 

“Am I tiresome?” he asked, gravely. “I’m 
sorry. Just being with you has been enough for 
me, Lucile, and egotism made me forget that I 
might bore you. I’ll try not to do it again.” 

Disarmed by his gentleness and penitently con- 
scious that she had wounded him, she wished des- 
perately to set herself right, yet scarcely knew hQW 
to begin. 

“Jack, I — I’m a beast,” she said, after a minute, 
still not looking at him, but feeling her face grow 
hot. “I — I — don’t deserve — your friendship — ” 

“Lucile,” he cried, pleadingly, “it isn’t friendship 
I’m offering, don’t you know that? It’s — oh, Lu- 
cile, look at me — ” 

But she was off, racing recklessly through the 
underbrush — wondering at herself for running 
away — when in her heart she had wanted to stay — 
oh, how she had wanted to!” 

Jessie was a little surprised and alarmed when 
she slipped her hand into Lucile’ s a few minutes 
later, to find it trembling. 


180 Lucile on the Heights 

“Lucy,” she cried with quick solicitude, leading 
her off to a more secluded spot, “did I do wrong 
to leave you and Jack alone? If he made you feel 
bad, I’ll kill him!” 

Lucile gave a queer little laugh and patted 
Jessie’s hand reassuringly. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said, “it wasn’t Jack’s 
fault — he was splendid. Oh, Jessie — ” she hid 
her face against Jessie’s shoulder and the latter’s 
arms tightened about her. 

“Lucy, dear/’ she whispered, the joyful light of 
the successful matchmaker in here eyes, “did he — 
did you — you needn’t tell me unless you want to, 
you know — ” she paused hopefully, but Lucile 
broke away from her in one of her swift changes 
of mood, tucked some rebellious curls in place and 
answered with a delicious little curtsey, 

“You’d better be careful with your designing 
plots, Miss Jessie Sanderson. Some day I may 
hunger for revenge and then — look out!” 

With which she evaded Jessie’s outstretched 
hand and precipitated herself into the midst of a 
newly-excited and jubilant mob. 


Jeddie in a New Role 


181 


“What do you suppose?” cried Marion, flinging 
her into the circle. “Evelyn had a letter from 
Jim, saying he’ll be here this afternoon. Oh, 
won’t we give him one reception.” 

“This afternoon,” cried Lucile, “why it’s al- 
most noon, now. Goodness, we’ll have to do some 
hustling to get ourselves and the camp ready for 
the arrival of — ” 

“Our successful New York engineer,” finished 
Jessie, poised daintily on one foot. “Rumor has 
it that we are soon to have some ‘punkins’ in our 
midst.” 

“You said it,” Phil agreed, enthusiastically, for 
it must be remembered that he and Jim were 
friends of long standing. “Jim’s a genius, that’s 
what he is — and I’m mighty glad I was one of the 
first to shake hands with him.” 

“You dear,” whispered Lucile, slipping one of 
her own little hands into his. “Did you see 
Evelyn’s face when you said that? I guess there’s 
no mistake as to her feelings in the matter.” 

“It’s catching,” grinned Phil, giving the little 
hand a responsive squeeze. “Gee, it’ll be just 


182 Lucile on the Heights 

luck if any of us come out of these muontain fast- 
nesses heart-whole and fancy-free.” 

“It’s all according to how we came in,” laughed 
his sister and was off before he could retort. 

After that there was “racing and chasing on 
Cannobee Lea” — or rather, in the two camps, for 
both girls and boys were anxious to appear at 
their best for the expected newcomer. 

However, as it turned out, they might have 
spared themselves a great deal of exertion for the 
camp was in order, to say nothing of themselves, 
for a full hour before the actual arrival of their 
visitor. And how long an hour can seem, when 
one’s nerves are a-tingle with expectancy! 

As it was, they were just turning disgustedly 
from their observation post on a gigantic rock 
near the roadside when Jack suddenly and effect- 
ively changed the trend of their thoughts. 

“The flivver,” he yelled, springing from the 
rock and giving a hand to Lucile. “Breaking all 
its records for deviltry. I bet old Jim never had 
a ride like that in civilized New York. Come on, 
Lucile, we’ll be the traction cops and hold ’em up. 


Jeddie in a New Role 183 

Say, you Jim, can’t you say 'hello’ to a pal?” this 
last as the car swung around a turn in the road 
and came to a sudden stop at sight of them. 

From the tonneau sprang a broad-shouldered, 
splendid figure of a man whose doffed hat revealed 
a mop of crisp red curls and whose merry grey 
eyes twinkled with true Irish humor. 

"Say, you’re a sight to stir the heart of a man,” 
he said, in a big voice which seemed admirably 
suited to the width and breadth of him. "How 
are you, Jack, old man? Gad, it’s good to see 
you — and Lucile, why ye’re bonnier than ever, 
darlin’ with your bright hair and your rosy face — 
and if here don’t come the whole army of ’em. 
Gad, my chest is gettin’ bigger every minute.” 

Jim’s Irish ancestry only made itself felt in 
moments of extreme emotion or excitement, when 
he spoke with the slightest suggestion of a brogue. 
The girls loved it and then and there decided to 
keep big Jim in a perpetual state of excitement. 

"Ah, Evelyn,” he was saying, and Lucile’s eyes 
telegraphed delighted signals to Jessie at the un- 
deniable softening of his voice, "here you come, 


184 Lucile on the Heights 

bringin’ up the rear — and I thought you’d forgot- 
ten me entirely.” 

He took Evelyn’s plump little hand in his im- 
mense one and Lucile experienced a little thrill of 
alarm as she noticed how Evelyn’s eyes avoided 
his gaze. 

“Oh, dear,” she thought, in dismay, “I never 
realized before how completely not looking at a 
person can give you away. And Jack says I never 
look at him!” 

Whereupon she firmly decided that hereafter 
Jack should be the object of her constant and un- 
ceasing regard. 

Shouting, hilarious, the boys and girls sur- 
rounded Jim and were for carrying him off then 
and there to see the sights, when he raised his 
hand and roared for attention. 

When the boys had hoisted him to a natural 
platform of rock, forming a semi-circle about him, 
laughing at him, crying “Speech, speech,” or 
“Order, you slaves — the great High Muckamuck 
is about to address you.” 

Finally when order had been whipped out of 


Jeddie in a New Role 


185 


chaos, Jim swept the circle with his snapping grey 
eyes and began to speak. 

At the moment it would have been hard, well- 
nigh impossible to find in this self-possessed, con- 
fident young city-bred man, a trace of the shrink- 
ing, heart-hungry boy our girls had first known. 

It was a revelation of the magic of environ- 
ment and the girls felt a thrill of exultation when 
they realized that the forming of the camp fire 
had been to a large extent responsible for the 
miracle. Their camp fire — what had it not done 
for them all! 

“Girls and fellows,” Jim was saying, with a 
touch of earnestness in his tone that won instant 
response from them all, “the other day, or 
rather, night, when I found I would be able to 
break away and join you here, I got to thinking 
somehow, of old times — how much I owed you all 
— and suddenly an idea came to me,” he glanced 
about at their attentive young faces, and for the 
first time the girls recognized something of the 
old Jim in the wistful smile that curved the cor- 
ners of his mouth. 


186 Lucile on the Heights 

“You see,” he continued, more slowly, “the 
luckiest moment of my whole life came when little 
Jeddie ran away and introduced me to — Mrs. 
Wescott and you camp fire girls.” 

He looked around at them again, so much the 
old Jim now that Lucile felt the quick tears of 
sympathy stinging her eyes. 

“I’m not going to tell you all that meeting 
meant to me,” he continued, whimsically. “It 
would take me too long and besides, I never 
could express my thoughts half well enough. I 
only knew that Jeddie was my mascot that sum- 
mer, and there was no reason in the world why 
he shouldn’t bring us all luck again — so — ” he 
paused and at the moment, as though at a pre- 
arranged signal, there came two short, imperative 
barks from the direction of the still waiting auto- 
mobile. 

For a moment they were surprised into silence 
by this amazing new development — but only for 
a moment. 

With a little cry Lucile ran forward and flung 
herself upon a wicker basket which had, up to 


Jeddie in a New Role 187 

this time, lain unnoticed on the floor of the car. 

“Jeddie, Jeddie/’ she murmured, undoing the 
clasps with trembling fingers, “come on out of 
there — you dog — ” 

With no perceptible hesitation, Jeddie came out, 
bounding straight into her arms and striving, as 
of yore to reach her face with his ardent pink 
tongue. 

With the little black dog clasped tight in her 
arms, Lucile was ushered through the crowd amid 
cries of, 

“Way for the mascot — the mascot comes,” — to 
be finally lifted upon the rock beside Jim where 
she turned and faced them. 

“Girls and boys,” she cried, face flushed and 
eyes sparkling, “allow me to introduce to you the 
dog of the hour and the pride of our camp. He 
brought to us once the good fortune of a meeting 
with one of New York’s most promising and 
who received the ensuing ovation with a gravity 
rising young engineers” — this with a bow to Jim — 
belied by the twinkle in his eyes. 

“And,” continued Lucile, in true orator’s style, 


188 


Lucile on the Heights 


“once having performed so signal a service — 
what may he — the dog I mean — not do in the 
future? I ask you, ladies and gentlemen — what 
may he not do?” 

“Nothing,” cried one of the boys enthusiastic- 
ally, to be immediately assailed with cries of — 

“Down in front.” 

“She wasn’t speaking to you — she said gentle- 
men,” — until he subsided in confusion and atten- 
tion was once more focused upon Lucile. 

“So,” finished the latter, holding Jeddie out in 
front of her where he barked in excited and 
friendly fashion at his audience, at the same time 
waving a frantic greeting with his tail, “having 
received the one thing needed to complete our hap- 
piness, we hereby resign the center of the stage 
and leave our mascot to speak for himself” — of 
which kind permission the little dog — excited by 
all the noise and confusion, availed himself with- 
out delay. 

A few minutes later a very much pampered, 
very much petted dog followed the joyful pro- 
cession back to camp — excitedly conscious of the 


Jeddie in a New Role 


189 


dignity and responsibility his new office imposed 
upon him. 

He was a mascot now — and it behooved him to 


behave himself! 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE BEAR FEASTS 

“But he’s changed so, Lucy — he’s actually be- 
come handsome. What are you laughing at — 
don’t you think he has?” 

Lucile straightened the corners of her mouth 
and tried to look solemn. 

“Why, of course, he’s awfully good looking,” 
she answered. “If there’s any doubt of that — 
ask Evelyn. What made me laugh was the re- 
membrance of our first meeting with him on the 
platform of the Alosa station.” 

Jessie chuckled, and leaning down, pulled one 
of Jeddie’s soft ears. 

“If my memory faileth me not,” she said, 
“Evelyn was the very first to poke derisions and 
mockery at the poor country boy. We wouldn’t 
dare remind her of it, now — she’d have our lives.” 

“And they look so dear and funny together,” 
Lucile went on, tickling Jeddie’s nose with a piece 


The Bear Feasts 


191 


of long grass, till he sneezed and opened a re^ 
proachful eye upon her. “I have yet to see a 
great big overgrown fellow like Jim who didn’t 
pick out a little bit of a girl he could put in his 
pocket.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Jessie ob- 
jected. “Evelyn isn’t much on height, but she 
isn’t exactly a bean pole. It would have to be a 
pretty broad pocket that she’d occupy. You 
know, Lucy,” she added, apparently at random, 
“this camp is having a demoralizing effect upon 
us.” 

“Well, turn about is fair play,” returned Lucile, 
wickedly. “You’ve done your best to demoralize 
it.” 

“Oh, is that so?” mimicked Jessie, with a little 
grimace. “Well, I’ll just tell you that all my 
trouble has come from just watching you and 
Jack.” 

“What do you do it for then?” queried Lucile, 
reasonably. “I’m sure we don’t need it.” 

Then, forestalling the retort she saw trembling 
on Jessie’s lips, she went on hurriedly and with a 
slightly heightened color. 


192 Lucile on the Heights 

“You know, I have an idea the boys are plan- 
ning to surprise us with something. They have 
acted very mysteriously, lately. I wonder if they 
could have found some trace of our gypsy boy or 
the musician. With Jeddie as a mascot, we ought 
to be able to bring them together.” 

“Goodness, you couldn’t expect him to begin 
work so soon,” laughed Jessie. “Give him time. 
Just the same, I have noticed something unusual in 
the atmosphere. The boys never act that way 
unless they have something up their sleeves — 
pardon me — I should say, ‘in the offing’ or some- 
thing equally Bostonese. Didn’t I tell you I was 
becoming demoralized ?” 

“Don’t say that, Jessie, dear” — Lucile had be- 
come suddenly serious — “because you know you 

don’t mean it. I know of course you mean it’s 
the romantic atmosphere that makes it impossible 
for you to snub Phil as much as you would like. 
I’ve noticed he’s becoming terribly dictatorial, 
lately.” 

“Horribly,” assented Jessie, plucking a handful 
of grass and throwing it spitefully into the lake — 
one would almost believe that she would have done 


The Bear Feasts 


193 


the same to Phil, had it been possible. “Why, 
whenever I say anything to him, he only laughs 
and says, as you did just a moment ago — that I 
know I don’t mean it. Things have come to a 
pretty pass when I need other people to tell me 
what I mean.” 

Lucile laughed softly. 

“Never mind, dear,” she said, putting an arm 
about Jessie’s despondent shoulders, “Phil’s just 
growing up, that’s all — and you’re not used to it 
yet. Anyway, you know you think a lot of him.” 

“I do not,” Jessie exploded and Lucile’s only 
answer was another laugh. 

“Now you know you don’t mean it,” she said. 

In spite of herself, Jessie laughed and put an 
answering arm about her tormentor. 

“Oh, Lucy, Lucy,” she murmured, “I wonder 
what is to become of me.” 

Lucile was about to reply when an unexpected 
sight made her jump to her feet, shading her 
eyes with her hand. 

“Jessie,” she cried, “look — can that be the 
boys?” 


194 Lucile on the Heights 

Jessie scrambled to her feet and a moment later 
was doing a dance step in her excitement. 

“Of course it’s the boys,” she cried. “There’s 
Jack and Phil in the front seat. But where in the 
world did they get the boats?” 

Lucile did some rapid-fire thinking in that mo- 
ment and came to a swift conclusion. 

Of course they must be the boats she herself 
had discovered that first day in camp — the boats 
which Phil had called tubs and which Jessie had 
likened to a bug. Also, Jack’s condemnation had 
been no less real because of his restraint in voicing 
it. 

Of course, being so completely discouraged, Lu- 
cile had completely forgotten what had at first 
seemed to her a useful discovery and had natural- 
ly believed the rest had done the same. 

And now here they were, all seemingly strong 
and watertight, being rowed across the lake as 
though on a wager. 

“Where on earth did they get' the oars?” Jessie 
voiced the same thought that was in Lucile’s mind 
and they looked at each other in perplexity. 


The Bear Feasts 


195 


As they watched the boys progress, Lucile was 
not quite sure whether to be pleased or vexed. 
After all, it had been her find originally and the 
boys might have taken her into their confidence. 

However, as her motto had always been — 
‘‘when in doubt — smile,” she immediately put it 
into practice. 

“Let’s call the girls,” she suggested “and our 
guardian. They mustn’t miss seeing the sights.” 

Accordingly, when Jack and Phil and Jim, who 
manned the first boat leaped upon the bank they 
found an enthusiastic company awaiting them. 
Jack who had paused for a moment to make the 
boat fast to an overhanging branch of a great 
tree, strode through the laughing group of girls 
to Lucile’s side. 

“With your kind indulgence,” he shouted, mak- 
ing a megaphone of his hands, “I will, for a few 
moments hold the center of the stage.” 

“You bet your life it will be a few moments,” 
cried Phil, derisively, “and the fewer the better — 
that’s all I have to say to you.” 

He was greeted by laughter and a chorus of 


196 Lucile on the Heights 

hisses, into which Jack’s voice broke threatening- 

ty- 

“If any low personage in the audience wishes 
to dispute my right to occupy the center of the 
stage, I should be glad to argue the point in the 
only manner compatible — ” 

“He means I’ve got to fight a duel,” said Phil, 
in mock dismay. “No sir — there's a law against 
carrying concealed weapons in this country. Go 
on, Jack, say your little speech and get it over 
with.” 

“Well, as I was about to remark,” Jack con- 
tinued, “and as introductions seem to be the order 
of the summer, I take the liberty of introducing 
to you our latest acquisition, ‘Lucile, the dis- 
coverer’.” 

A murmur of astonishment and amusement went 
the rounds, while Lucile’s pretty person, as she 
leaned against a tree, was the battery for a score 
of fond and curious glances which said as plainly 
as words, “Our Lucile — what has she been doing, 
now ?” 


The Bear Feasts 


197 


“If it had not been for her, we should never 
have had the use of the noble and graceful craft 
you see before you — or beside you — or behind 
you — according to the position in which you are 
standing — ” 

Phil was heard to murmur something about 
“getting at him/’ but several pairs of hands sur- 
rounded separate parts of his anatomy, and he 
was forced to submit. 

“In conclusion,” Jack was declaiming, dramatic- 
ally, “I might add, that, while Columbus discov- 
ered more — Columbus himself was not so much.” 

This time Phil was not to be restrained and 
Jack was dragged from his lofty perch amid 
shouts of cheering from his audience. 

After that nothing would do but the boys must 
take the girls for a row around the lake — but 
Mrs. Wescott interposed. 

It was wonderful to see that exuberant crowd 
of young folks quiet down at her first words and 
see the expression of loving respect with which 
they listened to her. 

Her husband saw it and smiled tenderly to him- 


198 Lucile on the Heights 

self. He had never grudged the time and thought 
she had spent on her camp fire girls, for he real- 
ized that had it not been for them, he should, in 
all probability, never have had his wife. As a re- 
sult, his enthusiasm for the organization of camp 
fire clubs throughout the country was unquench- 
able. 

“I don’t know,” she was saying, looking very 
attractive in her perplexity, “just what to do. I 
intended taking some of the younger girls into 
the woods for the afternoon, but, if we have our 
pleasure this morning, we’ll have to sacrifice it 
later. Now, I have it,” she smiled around at them. 
“Suppose you big boys take the younger girls for 
a row right away so we can get an early start this 
afternoon. And you, Lucile, and the rest, may 
clear up now and have your fun later. How will 
that be?” 

The plan received unanimous approval and as 
Lucile passed her guardian she put an arm about 
her, asking, sweetly: 

“If we are very good, guardian, dear, and clear 
up beautifully — might we be permitted to do up 


The Bear Feasts 


199 


some lunch so we can get an earlier start? It 
would be ever so much more fun that way.” 

The permission was readily granted and a few 
minutes later the girls were vigorously attacking 
the mass of piled-up breakfast dishes. So efficient 
had they become in the art of “clearing up” that 
they were dancing impatiently upon the bank — the 
hampers filled to the covers with good things — 
long before the first boat nosed its way about the 
turn in the lake. 

However, as every good thing has to start some- 
time, they found themselves after a wait that 
seemed interminable, taking their seats in the boats 
— cautioning the boys not to drop the hampers 
overboard — a caution which the boys treated with 
the scorn it deserved. 

“I bet this has some of Jessie’s biscuits in it,” 
grinned Phil, lifting the basket with apparent ef- 
fort. “In fact, I’d be willing to bet my last cent 
on it.” 

“Why?” asked Jim, who had been separated 
from Phil long enough to be slightly off his guard. 
“Betting to your last cent is going some. I’d 
rather look inside, first.” 


200 Lucile on the Heights 

“Just feel the weight of it and you won’t have 
to look,” Phil explained, to which pleasantry Jes- 
sie, lulled by the heat and the soft splash of the 
oars, vouchsafed no reply. 

The others, too, had grown rather silent and 
when Jack spoke to her, Lucile brought her wan- 
dering thoughts, with a start, back to the present. 

“Well, have you forgiven me?” he asked, and 
she looked up in surprise. She was always so 
pretty when surprised that Jack made a mental 
note to do it oftener. 

“Forgiven you,” she repeated, “what for — 
this time?” 

“Repairing your discovery without taking you 
into the secret?” 

“How did you know I didn’t like it?” she 
evaded. “I wasn’t cross, was I?” 

“You never are,” he assured her, fervently. “I 
simply know you so well that I saw you were 
hiding something, and guessed at the trouble. We 
should have told you, but Phil thought Jessie 
might be hurt if we left her out, and we were 
eager to surprise you. Now will you forgive me?” 


The Bear Feasts 


201 


“More than that,” she answered and would have 
given almost anything the next minute if she had 
not made the admission. 

“What more?” he was asking eagerly. “What 
more will you give me than forgiveness — Lu- 
cile — ” 

“Hey, Jack, look out there,” Phil warned as 
they narrowly grazed a floating log. “What do 
you think this old tub is, anyway? Look out — 
we’re afoul of another one — ” 

“Well, suppose you take the oars for a change, 
you lazy lubber,” cried Jack hotly. “All you’ve 
done all day is tell other people how to work.” 

“Well,” returned Phil, urbanely, “it isn’t my 
fault if nature has endowed me with superior 
ability. Some day, when I have become famous, 
people will point to me, saying, ‘Behold, there 
walketh fhe son of a poor working man — ’ ” 
“Ooh, you wait till I tell Dad,” threatened Lu- 
cile, eyes brimming with laughter, but the “son 
of the poor working man” took no heed. 

“Risen, as doth all genius on the backs of the 


working masses — ” 


202 Lucile on the Heights 

“ You’ll rise on the toe of my number nine 
walkovers,” cried Jack, rising in his wrath and 
exhibiting a foot of disconcerting proportions. 
“Get over there and grab those oars, sweet genius, 
before I throw you overboard.” 

“I protest,” said Phil, rising in his place and 
tipping the boat perilously to one side. “I say,” 
raising his voice, “I protest against the rude, in- 
sensate brutality of the hoi polloi — ” 

At this juncture, Jessie administered a gentle 
little push, thereby upsetting his equilibrium and 
dignity at the same time. 

“Behold !” she cried, dramatically, “so hath 
genius fallen in the height of his ambition — 
even like to the shooting star — ” 

“Give me a pistol, and the star will have com- 
petition,” grumbled Phil, picking himself up and 
climbing into the place vacated by Jack with an 
air of injured innocence. 

“Just the same,” he added, gripping the oars 
and joining sheepishly in the general mirth, “it’s 
gratifying to be called a star by a young and 
beauteous damsel, even though you know she 


The Bear Feasts 


203 


doesn't mean it. Where to, sweet masters — my 
arm giveth out.” 

“So soon?” cried Jessie, scornfully. “Why, 
you've just begun. Besides — we want to row a 
long time before we eat.” 

“Oh, yes?” queried Phil, with suppressed bit- 
terness. “Well, even I — poor slave that I am — 
may have something to say about that!” 

“The way I feel now,” said Evelyn, prqying 
herself an unexpected ally, “making Phil wait 
for his lunch would be merely biting our own 
noses off. I’m famished.” 

“Hooray,” cried Phil, then meeting Jessie's 
eyes, subsided with assumed humility. 

“I meant — oh, horrors,” he said. 

His expression, more than his words, convulsed 
them all and it was some time before they had 
recovered enough to broach the subject of a land- 
ing. 

“Really, people, I have to eat,” cried Lucile, 
the lilt of laughter still in her voice. “We girls 
were hungry all the time we were putting up the 
lunch and it's more than an hour since then. 


204 Lucile on the Heights 

Look, there’s just the place we’ve been looking 
for.” 

‘‘Just the place” was indeed, a most ideal spo,t 
for a picnic — in fact, the girls had conceded since 
the first day of their arrival, that never had lake 
harbored so many romantic little dells and grottoes 
for enthusiastic campers like themselves. If they 
had had one made to order, they could not have 
chosen more happily. 

Phil rowed in toward shore and the boys scram- 
bled out upon the bank, holding out their hands 
to the girls — who indeed, needed little help, being 
as quick and qgile as themselves — then made the 
boat fast to an overhanging bough. 

The other two boat loads of young people had 
evidently not seen them land, for, although they 
waited some time, there was no sign from them and 
they finally decided to eat without waiting longer. 

"It’s good they have their own hampers with 
them,” said Evelyn, as they fell to eagerly at the 
task of unpacking. “Otherwise we would have 
to wait for them and goodness knows what would 
become of me.” 



“It’s a bear!” he shouted hoarsely. ( Page 205.) 



The Bear Feasts 


205 


“Oh, give me some,” cried Phil, eyeing the 
tempting assortment of delicacies ravenously. “I’m 
dying by yards. I say, old chap — what have we 
here?” 

Then happened what no one of those girls and 
boys will ever forgot. 

Turning at Phil’s words to follow his rapt gaze 
into the woods, they stoo 4 d as though paralyzed — 
eyes and mouths wide open, staring straight be- 
fore them. Jack was the first to find his tongue. 

“It’s a bear,” he shouted, hoarsely. “Don’t 
stand there like fools, you fellows. Get the girls 
in the boat and stand off from shore.” 

In what seemed to them a particularly bad and 
vivid nightmare the girls felt themselves half- 
pushed, half-carried into the boats while that 
great lumbering form in the background quick- 
ened its clumsy pace at sight of them — crashing 
noisily through the bushes and underbrush. 

Had it not been for the food they had spread 
out on the rock the adventure might have ended 
disastrously — for they found how very much easier 
it is to tie a knot on the branch of a tree when 


206 Lucile on the Heights 

your head is cool and your nerves steady than it 
is to undo your handiwork with trembling fingers 
and the need of haste like a lash at your back. 

The girls could have screamed with the horror 
of it, but in another minute Jack had whipped out 
his knife and cut the rope. Then, giving the boat 
a mighty shove, he tumbled into it himself, while 
big Jim at the oars pulled as he had never pulled 
before. 

“Look,” cried Jessie, gripping Phil’s arm and 
pointing back to where the big black brute was 
calmly devouring their pile of good things, “it’s 
lucky we had the lunch spread out. If we hadn't 
— ” she shivered a little, yet could not draw her 
eyes away from the spot. 

“Lucky,” grumbled Phil, the light of revenge in 
his eye, “lucky nothing — I’d almost rather let him 
eat me than that lunch.” 

The girls laughed a little hysterically, for now 
that the danger was passed, the situation appealed 
to their sense of humor. 

“Oh, but I was frightened,” gasped Lucile, the 
unsteadiness in her voice showing that fright had 


The Bear Feasts 207 

not altogether disappeared. “He's such an im- 
mense thing and he came upon us so suddenly.” 

“What did you think he’d do?” growled Phil, 
his ill humor increasing in direct proportion to the 
rapid disappearance of the viands on shore, “send 
a telegram? Say, for two cents I’d swim in and 
take those sandwiches away from him. I thought 
I had an appetite — ” 

“You’ll stay just where you are,” Jessie said, 
firmly. “If you move an inch I’ll jump over- 
board.” 

“Look at him now,” yelled Jim. Attracted, no 
doubt, by the noise of the altercation, the bear 
reared slowly on its hind feet, assuming in their 
fascinated eyes tremendous proportions — then, 
slowly and majestically came to earth again. 

Then, with calm impudence, he continued his 
feast where he had left off. 

“Guess that’s his way of saying ‘howdee,’ ” 
laughed Jim. “Seems to be a good natured old 
codger.” 

“Who wouldn’t be,” growled Phil, “with all 
that grub inside him?” 


CHAPTER XVII 


PETER BINGLE 

“You know, there’s something all-fired impor- 
tant we’ve forgotten about,” said Jack, and at the 
sudden seriousness of his tone they looked at him 
curiously. 

“Oh, I know what you mean,” cried Lucile, go- 
ing white. “There’s our guardian and the girls 
alone in the woods. Oh, we must find them — we 
must warn them — ” 

“Some of the boys are with them,” Phil was 
beginning, when Lucile impatiently cut him short. 

“What earthly good would they be?” she cried, 
“they haven’t any weapons. Oh, don’t waste 
time in talking, we must act.” 

She was trembling all over and without another 
word Jack seized the idle pair of oars and the 
two athletes pulled with all the strength that was 
in them. 

“We ought to find Mr. Wescott first,” Phil sug- 

208 


Peter Bingle 209 

gested. “He would know better than we where 
to find Mrs. Wescott. If we try to hunt them 
down this way, we’ll be going it blind.” 

“You’re right, of course,” said Jack, pausing 
for a moment to look for some sign of the other 
boats. “You fellows keep a bright lookout and 
meanwhile we’ll make enough noise to wake the 
dead. Now then — all together.” 

They shouted, and yodelled, and called Mr. 
Wescott’s name until their voices were hoarse and 
they were just about despairing when their re- 
ward came in a shouted “hello” from the other 
side of the lake. 

Then from around the little peninsula-shaped 
arm of land they espied, to their great delight and 
relief, the other two boats — evidently the rest of 
the party had kept together. 

“Good,” said Jack, and rowed the harder. 

They met the other craft in the middle of the 
lake and poured their excited story into incredu- 
lous ears. 

“Are you sure?” queried Mr. Wescott, still 
unable to believe, then with a queer note in his 
voice gave an order. 


210 Lucile on the Heights 

“We have to be back in the camp in five min- 
utes, boys — can we do it?” 

“You bet we can,” they answered and Mr. 
Wescott, gripping the oars so the knuckles showed 
white, said between compressed lips — 

“Then row for your lives!” 

The boys rowed like mad and before the five 
minutes was up the first boat had grazed the bank. 

In much less time than it takes to tell, the boys 
and girls, led by Mr. Wescott, were racing through 
the woods toward the spot where Mrs. Wescott 
and her gathering should be. 

It must be admitted that, during the running, 
tumbling, reckless journey, the girls allowed them- 
selves frequent glances over their shoulders. If 
that huge, lurching form should take a fancy to 
pursue them — ! 

However, they met with no mishap and were 
beginning to breathe easier when Mr. Wescott es- 
pied his wife through the trees. 

“Helen,” he cried, breaking in upon her in the 
midst of a lecture she was giving to an attentive 
and absorbed group, “thank Heaven you’re safe. 


Peter Bingle 211 

Are all the girls and boys here — none have wan- 
dered off into the woods — have they?” 

“Why of course not,” she replied, gazing in be- 
wilderment from her dishevelled husband to the 
breathless girls and boys that crowded in behind 
him. “Jack, what is the matter with you? You 
look as though you’d seen a ghost.” 

“I wish we had,” groaned Phil. “Ghosts don’t 
have such appetites.” 

The girls felt a hysterical desire to shout, yet 
there was something in the seriousness of the sit- 
uation that prevented them. 

There was danger lurking in the forest, danger 
in the form of a sinister black bear — danger which 
might even now be threatening them. Once more 
they all glanced nervously over their shoulders. 

Mrs. Wescott noticed the involuntary move- 
ment and stomped her foot with impatience. 

“What in the world — ” she began, but her hus- 
band forestalled her by giving her a hurried ac- 
count of the episode. 

When he had finished, their guardian, pale of 
face and lips animated as always with a maternal 


212 Lucile on the Heights 

instinct of protection, gathered the girls to her, 
gazing apprehensively about. 

“Jack,” she said, her eyes dark with fear, “what 
can we do? Why we haven’t even a gun about 
the place in case of emergencies.” 

“Yes, we have,” said Mr. Wescott, grimly, 
adding hurriedly as though in answer to an un- 
spoken question, “I packed a couple without saying 
anything to you, Helen — for I know how you hate 
firearms — but in the mountains, it’s always well to 
be prepared. It didn’t seem really necessary to 
me at the time for the simple reason that a bear is 
seldom seen in and around Brandenburg, but I 
thought it best to take no chances. So you see, 
under the circumstances, camp is a far safer place 
than this.” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” cried Helen Wescott feverishly. 
“When I think what might have happened, and 
what still may happen it makes me tremble. Come, 
girls and boys, gather up your things quickly — 
there isn’t a moment to lose.” 

They obeyed energetically, feeling meanwhile a 
half-pleasureable, half-fearful excitement. They 


Peter Bingle 213 

were just about to leave the place when a sharp 
crackling sound among the bushes made them stop 
as though shot. 

“It’s the bear,” quavered Jessie, clutching Lu- 
cile convulsively by the arm. “I’m glad we’re 
going to die together, Lucy.” 

Lucile gurgled hysterically — for she was the 
first to catch sight of the real cause of the dis- 
turbance, and the reaction made her giddy. 

The next instant Mr. Wescott had seen and 
stepped forward with a shout of relief to greet 
the new comer. 

“Old Peter Bingle, by my best Sunday hat,” he 
cried, boyishly, and the parched, leathery face of 
the man thus addressed relaxed into a welcoming 
smile. 

“Waal, waal,” he drawled, “ef this ain’t a real 
pleasure, I don’t know one with a identy-ficashun 
card tacked onto it. Three years since I seen ye 
last, yet I ain’t forgot a hair o’ ye haid. Which is 
more’n ye can say for me,” he added, with a 
grin, “seein’ I ain’t got none ter fergit.” 

“Just now,” said Jack Wescott, whimsically, 


214 Lucile on the Heights 

“that old gun of yours is worth more to us than 
the finest head of hair in the country would be. 

“Helen, this is the renowned hunter and trapper 
you’ve heard me tell about Peter Bingle. And 
these, Pete, are our camp fire girls and camping 
boys, whose high spirits and enthusiasm my wife 
and I are trying with indifferent success to curb.” 

“Ye’re a fine one to be talkin’ about dampenin’ 
sperits?” the old trapper remarked, skeptically. 
“And anyways, I’d leave off tryin’ ef I was you — 
high sperits is a asset in this here wale o’ tears. 

“I’m real pleased ter meet ye, ma’m — also the 
girls and boys. Ye was sayin’,” he added, while 
the boys and girls gathered nearer, examining him 
curiously as though he had been some strange new 
kind of animal, “ye was sayin’ suthin’ ’bout my 
old trusty bein’ a welcome sight, or words to that 
effect. Want ter commit suicide, or set up fer 
target practice — eh?” 

“You said it,” cried Phil, irrepressibly. “Only, 
instead of a bull’s eye — we’re aiming for a bear.” 

The old trapper’s eyes twinkled as they rested 
upon the fiery youth and he replied with a more 
emphatic drawl than before. 


215 


Peter Bingle 

“Bear’s eye — is it,” he cried. “Wall, waal, 
what’s the bear been doin’ — tryin’ ter git a meal 
off’n ye?” 

“Worse than that,” replied Mr. Wescott, before 
Jack could speak. “He ate all the lunch and 
Phil would rather have tendered himself.” 

Phil blinked and Jack punched him In the ribs, 
whispering, joyfully — 

“They’ve got your number, old man — you can’t 
get away from your 'rep’.” 

Phil’s only answer was a grin which showed him 
unashamed. 

“My, but that there’s bad,” the old trapper 
sympathized. “Thar’s nothin’ like the mountains 
ter give ye an appetite. But why didn’t ye pot 
th’ ole feller, son — bear steaks is fine pickin’.” 

“The only thing that kept us from potting him,” 
grinned Phil, “was the lack of the wherewithal to 
pot. 

“Gee, it would have been like taking candy 
from a baby,” he added. “The old codger even 
reared up on his hind legs to give us a better 
target.” 


216 Lucile on the Heights 

Their new acquaintance slapped his thigh and 
bent over double as though in enjoyment of a 
huge joke. 

“I knowed it,” he said, straightening up and 
twinkling at them. “I kinda ’spicioned from the 
first, an’ now thar ain’t no doubt. It’s durned 
lucky ye didn’t have no gun, seein’s those little 
uns would a gone to bed broken hearted. My, 
it’s lucky — yer not havin’ no gun.” 

“You mean,” said Mr. Wescott, a light dawn- 
ing in his eyes, while the boys and girls just 
stared, “you mean that bear was a pet and we’ve 
had all our worry for nothing?” 

“Jes’ so,” said the old trapper, hugely enjoying 
their chagrin. “All ye had ter do was jes’ ter 
give him a clout on the nose an’ say, sort a 
scoldin’ like — 

“ ‘Naughty, naughty — stop eatin’ that thar grub 
an’ git about yer business like a nice, well-behaved 
animile’ — an’ he’s ’a vamoosed gentle as a kitten.” 

Phil, whose dismay had been gradually increas- 
ing during this monologue, covered his eyes with 
his hand and groaned aloud. 


217 


Peter Bingle 

“Oh, cruel fate,” he cried, staggering dramatic- 
ally. “What trick is this thou hast upon us — the 
humblest of thy pawns on the chess board of life. 
Ah, ’tis beyond my power to endure — ” 

“Goose,” cried Jessie, while the others shouted 
with laughter and the old trapper was frankly dis- 
mayed. 

“What is he — one o’ them acter fellers?” he 
queried, mildly. “I ’member a long time back 
some o’ that there tribe — ‘Wanderin Players’ I 
think ’twas they called theirselves — set up their 
panty-mime in Brandenburg. ’Twaren’t one 
amongst us objected to their wanderin’ but when 
they stopped — oh Lord,” he made an eloquent 
gesture and the young folks broke out into fresh 
gales of merriment. 

“Not that I meant it as a inflection on the 
young feller,” he went on, hastily, thereby only in- 
creasing the general hilarity. 

“Oh my, oh my,” cried Jack, when he could 
command his voice. “That’s one on you, Phil, 
old man, that you’ll never live down. 'As long as 
you keep moving you’re all right, but when you 


218 Lucile on the Heights 

stop — oh Lord’,” and he went off into fresh 
paroxysms. 

It was some minutes before they could gain 
sufficient command of themselves to think coher- 
ently — and even then, anyone happening to look at 
Phil would be affected with spasmodic gasping and 
coughing, from which he or she could only be re- 
lieved by strenuous pattings in the region of the 
spine. 

However, they eventually recovered, or nearly so 
and all moved off through the woods in the direc- 
tion of the camp. The old trapper was cordially 
invited to remain with them but he refused, saying 
that if he expected to “git that thar bear afore 
dark he would have ter do some almighty hustlin’.” 

The boys and girls would not let him go, how- 
ever, before they had extracted a promise from 
him that he would return before long and tell some 
of his immense stock of interesting stories. 

“Hope you find the dancing bear all right,” 
Jack sang after him as he turned away in the 
direction the boys had pointed out. “If you can’t, 
we’ll be glad to help out.” 


219 


Peter Bingle 

“Mighty kind o' ye,” said the trapper, adding 
with a grin and a glance at Phil, “judgin’ from the 
grub ye say he got away with, I’ll prob’ly find him 
lyin’ round that thar picnic basket — gorged to th’ 
muzzle. Good day ter ye.” 

“Gorged to the muzzle,” groaned* Phil, adding, 
vindictively, “Gee, I wouldn’t ask anyone to trust 
me within shooting distance of that ‘animile’ — even 
now !” 

“Goodness,” said Jessie, “we haven’t had a 
square meal since — ” 

“Breakfast,” Lucile finished. “I have a grudge 
against the old bear myself but oh, isn't that trap- 
per a wonder?” 

“Say Phil,” Jack interposed whimsically, “the 
old men seem to have all the luck around here. 
If we could powder our hair to a beautiful gleam- 
ing white — ” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Evelyn, rogue- 
ishly, “I’ll lend you some of my talcum powder. 
How will that do?” 

“Fine,” they agreed, and Jack added, “maybe 
for once, we’ll know what it is to be popular.” 


220 Lucile on the Heights 

“Well, folks,” said Mr. Wescott, coming up 
behind them, “that bear was pretty much a joke 
on us, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for Mrs. Wescott 
and the girls,” he added, with that splendid en- 
thusiasm that made him just a boy among the 
boys and gave him so much influence with' them, 
“I’d be more disappointed than relieved to find we 
had nothing to worry about.” 

“You said it,” Jack agreed, heartily. “A good 
bear fight would lend local color to the scene.” 

“Mr. Wescott,” Lucile put in with apparent irrel- 
evance, “that’s the same old trapper that told us 
the history of our wandering musician, isn’t it?” 

“The same,” he assented, cheerfully. “And if 
he comes, as he promised, to spin some of his 
yarns — and he’s sure to do it, — being a loquacious 
old boy, he never loses the chance for a story — 
we might take him into our confidence and enlist 
his aid in finding the boy. He knows everyone 
for miles around and would be the likeliest per- 
son I know to locate the gypsy encampment.” 

“Bully,” cried Phil, while the others beamed 
with approval. “We’ll have to get busy and 


Peter Bingle 221 

make some regular plans for the kidnapping of 
that little guy, fellows. And when we get him, 
we'll send old Pete off to find the musician. Say, 
think of the headline that would make in one of 
the New York papers — we’ll be some punkins.” 

“And meanwhile,” laughed Jessie, "camp looms 
before us and, in the offing, dinner.” 

“Oh,” said Phil, eloquently and once again — 


“Oh!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE WAIL OF THE VIOLIN 

Quite some time passed after the incident of 
the bear and nothing of special note happened to 
disturb the happy routine of the day. They swam 
and ate and laughed the golden hours away until, 
one morning they found another surprise awaiting 
them. 

Returning from a long hike through the woods, 
they were startled by an exclamation from Phil, 
as he suddenly darted on ahead of them. 

Phil was with his usual enthusiasm, shaking 
hands with someone, someone whose back was 
turned to them and who had evidently just ar- 
rived, judging from the grip he carried. 

“Who on earth,” Lucile began — then the strang- 
er turned and they saw he was no stranger at 
all, but David Cathcart. 

With a shout they were upon him giving him a 
jubilant welcome that almost took him off his feet 


222 


The Wail of the Violin 


223 


— alternately shaking hands with him and pelting 
him with questions, till he cried aloud for mercy. 

“Give the boy a chance,” laughed Mrs. Wescott, 
coming to his rescue and welcoming him heartily. 
“Can’t you see he’s dusty and tired and probably 
ravenous — ” 

“He has nothing on me,” Phil murmured. 

“Take him away, Phil, where he can wash up — 
he can tell us about himself at lunch. You are 
hereby,” she added, dimpling hospitably, “invited 
to lunch at the girls’ camp.” 

With a shout and hurrah, the boys were gone, 
leaving the girls to blink over this sudden turn 
of affairs. There had been little chance for per- 
sonal greeting — save as Marion would not be de- 
nied — in the general confusion, but now in the 
momentary lull both Lucile and Jessie instinctively 
glanced at Margaret. 

The latter’s usually pale face was flushed and 
her eyes were big and dark. 

“Lucy,” Jessie whispered, meeting her friend’s 
eyes in a long look of understanding, “suppose 
he’s foolish and doesn’t do the right thing. Sup- 
pose he makes Margaret unhappy.” 


224 Lucile on the Heights 

“He won’t,” answered Lucile, her pretty mouth 
set grimly. “We’ll find some way to make a sensi- 
ble, regular person out of him — even if he is a 
lawyer !” 

That night they had a camp fire. 

After a supper that did credit even to our camp 
fire girls — who never turned out anything that 
wasn’t delicious — they gathered about it, prepar- 
ing to enjoy its warmth and brightness to the 
utmost. 

Everybody was happy except Jack. In some 
mysterious way Dave had managed to capture a 
place next Lucile, and, once more, all Jack’s vague 
forebodings quickened into life. 

And Lucile, he moodily observed, was more 
lovely than ever and seemed in the best of spirits 
— perhaps because she had, to all appearances, for- 
gotten his existence. 

How he hated lawyers — all the smug, self-satis- 
fied tribe of them. Instinctively his hand sought 
Lucile’s but with the most maddening of smiles 
she drew it away, leaving him to grip a handful 
of moss savagely. 


The Wail of the Violin 


225 


He was a fool, he told himself, had always 
been a fool — always would be a fool — . 

“Jack,” his name was spoken softly, but he 
glanced up to see Lucile smiling at him in a 
way that made his heart thump madly, “I — I’m 
sorry but don’t you think the — the — fire’s — un- 
usually bright to-night?” 

“Lucile,” he implored, but she had turned away 
to answer a question of Dave’s. Yet, the magic 
had worked and the future was radiant again. 
Had he said the world was made up of fools? 
How could he have made such a mistake! 

“What’s the matter, Jackie?” said Jessie on his 
left, patting his shoulder fondly. “You act as 
though your thoughts were miles away. Is David 
monopolizing too much of Lucy’s attention?” 

“Rather,” he answered grimly. “Guess the fel- 
low thinks he’s talking on a wager. I can’t get 
a word in edgeways.” 

“Never mind, old man,” said Phil, intending to 
be reassuring. “Lucile doesn’t like him anyway — 
she and the others have picked him out for some- 
one else.” 


226 Lucile on the Heights 

“Hush, hush,’’ cried Jessie, frantically. “If 
Margaret should hear, I’d never, never forgive 
you, Phil — you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“I am,” said Phil, promptly, but there was real 
contrition in his voice. “I’m mighty sorry, Jet — 
I know I shouldn’t have said it.” 

Jessie’s eyes softened at the sound of the 
old, familiar name and she reached over and pat- 
ted Phil’s arm with unwonted gentleness. 

“You’re a dear,” she murmured, very softly. 
“I’m almost beginning to be — fond of you — 
Phil—” 

Phil’s hand tightened spasmodically over hers, 
and he held his breath. 

“Jessie,” he implored, “will you come away — 
away from all these people? I’ve got to talk to 
you — I’ve got to. Will you come?” 

“Silly,” she chided, “how could I ? They’d 
miss us in a minute. And besides — I’m not quite 
sure that I want to.” 

“Well, at least, you’re not sure that you don’t,” 
he said whimsically, “and that helps. Jessie,” he 
added, eagerly, “just tell me that you want to 


The Wail of the Violin 


227 


and I won’t ask you any more — not now, that is.” 

But Jessie had recovered herself and made a 
little face at him. 

“Which means that I have about five minutes 
peace,” she mocked him. “Please listen to what 
Margaret is saying. You’ll find it interesting, if 
not instructive.” 

So, over that circle of merry-eyed boys and girls 
fate was brooding, tender-eyed — gently molding 
the future for them all — a future rich in the prom- 
ise of happiness, rich in the ultimate fulfillment 
of their dearest dreams. 

“Let’s sing,” said someone suddenly and the 
suggestion met with instant approval. 

They had exhausted Dave with their questions, 
had told all the stories they knew; and now, upon 
a night like this — with the moon making a rippling 
path of radiance upon the water, and the stars 
drawing twinkling fairy points of light upon its 
surface, while the breeze in the tree tops crooned 
tender melodies to the drowsing birds, what more 
natural, what more altogether fitting than that 
they should sing to the quiet, the beauty, the mys- 
tery of it all. 


228 Lucile on the Heights 

And they sang — sang with all their full young 
hearts, making the woodland echo with the strains 
of all the dear old songs — songs old, yet ever new. 

“And now we’ll finish up with Home, Sweet 
Home,” Mrs. Wescott suggested, soft-voiced. 

With scarcely a pause after the last note of the 
song that went before, their voices blended in the 
sweet familiar melody. They sang it with exquisite 
feeling, for, before the inner vision of them all, 
arose a little group of home folks, own folks, 
whose love and fidelity was the one, unchanging 
fact of life. 

The melody had faded off into the depths of 
the forest and still they all sat silent. 

Then, suddenly, rending the deep stillness with a 
brutal clarity, there rose a wail — a sound so wild, 
so fierce, so terribly despairing, that their hearts 
grew cold within them and they shivered con- 
vulsively. 

They had started to their feet, but a quick, au- 
thoritative gesture from Mr. Wescott motioned 
them back again. In a moment they realized his 


reason. 


The Wail of the Violin 


229 


The wail rose higher and higher till suddenly 
it shattered into fragments of discordant notes 
and with amazement they realized that the voice 
was not human after all — it was a violin! 

Lucile grasped Jack’s arm convulsively. 

“My musician,” she whispered, fiercely. “Oh, 
Jack, he’s coming this way — toward us— listen — ” 

And while they sat motionless, the music melted 
to the strains of Home, Sweet Home — the melody 
they had sung with hearts full of happiness but a 
moment before. Yet, was it the same? 

Yes, surely it was — yet so changed, so distorted 
that one would scarcely have recognized it. 

It mocked, it danced, it chuckled fiendishly, then 
broke into a series of rasping notes, like the devil- 
ish crackling of some old crone — while ever and 
anon amid the raucous discord the melody of it 
rose eloquently, plaintively, passionately soaring 
to a frantic wail — then gasped and broke and shiv- 
ered into demon laughter that pealed and pealed 
again throughout the silent woodland — and was 
still. 

Forth from the bushes, straight toward them, 


230 Lucile on the Heights 

staggered the musician, silver hair disordered, eyes 
wild and staring, arms wide stretched and drawn 
face raised to the moon. 

“Home, home,” he cried, gaspingly. “God — 
where is — home — ” and with a little moan he 
slipped quietly forward and lay there with his 
face buried in the moss. 

In a moment they had rushed to him, dreading 
they knew not what. They were trembling in 
every limb, yet their training stood them in good 
stead and there was little confusion. 

“Oh, look out for his violin,” cried Lucile, 
softly, as one of them almost stumbled over it, “if 
he should lose that — oh, poor thing, poor thing — ” 
the pitying exclamation was wrung from her as, 
very gently, the boys turned the musician till his 
head rested on a little rise of ground and his face 
was bared to the moonlight. 

“He looks so white and still,” cried Margaret, 
pityingly, “Oh, can he be dead!” 

“No,” said Mr. Wescott, gravely from his kneel- 
ing position beside the unconscious man. “He is 
breathing regularly. Over here, Jack — that’s the 
idea.” 


The Wail of the Violin 


231 


All this time they had been speaking in whis- 
pers, a fact which none of them remarked upon, 
or even noticed till later. 

Now Jack dashed a pan of ice cold water full 
into the face of the musician, and was rewarded 
to see the latter’s eyes open slowly as if with 
great effort. His gaze slowly travelled from one 
to the other of the compassionate faces above him, 
then with a gentle sigh, he strove to sit up. 

Jack’s strong arm was immediately behind him, 
but when, feeling the support, the man tried weak- 
ly to rise, Mrs. Wescott ran to him, falling on her 
knees beside him. 

“Please don’t try to rise,” she said, her sweet 
face so lovely in its compassion that Marjorie 
afterward declared she “looked just like an angel,” 
“you are very tired and if you will let us take 
you near the fire and build it up a little, I am 
sure you will be a great deal more comfortable.” 

For a moment the man just sat and looked at 
her — like a man who, dying of thirst, sees rest 
and refreshment at last — then, reaching forward 
a tentative finger, touched her soft cheek ever 
so gently. 


232 Lucile on the Heights 

“Ah,” he said, closing his eyes, “you are a good 
woman.” 

There were tears in Helen Wescott’s eyes as she 
motioned her husband and the boys to move him 
closer to the fire. 

“Run and get some of the cushions — the kind 
we use in the boats,” she directed Lucile and 
Jessie; then turning to some of the other girls who 
were eagerly awaiting instructions, she added — 

“Suppose the rest of you get something for him 
to eat and a steaming cup of coffee. I think his 
weakness comes more from hunger than fatigue. 
Hustle, girls.” 

Tremblingly they ran to execute her orders and 
when Lucile and Jessie returned with the boat 
cushions, the boys rose eagerly to relieve them. 

They made an improvised couch fit for a king 
and helped the musician to it. Then, while the 
latter watched them wonderingly, yet unprotest- 
ingly, they heaped wood and underbrush upon the 
fire till it blazed up right merrily, crackling and 
dancing in a way to cheer the saddest heart. 

Then, quite suddenly, the musician bethought 


The Wail of the Violin 


233 


him of something, and, raising himself on his el- 
bow, looked about him wildly. 

“My violin,” he cried, “where is my violin?” 

In a flash Lucile was on her knees beside him, 
holding out both violin and bow. 

“We took good care of them,” she said, and 
the brook rippling over mossy bed was never more 
soft or musical than her voice at that moment. 
“We wouldn’t have harmed them for the world.” 

This man with the silver hair and the young 
face took them from her, not looking at them, but 
at her as she knelt there, so sweet and young in 
the firelight, then a slow smile dawned about his 
lips. 

“You are the pretty little lady,” he said, quaint- 
ly. “I remember you — J have played to you often, 
since then.” 

Lucile flushed with pleasure. 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she said, impulsively. “I 
think your music is the most wonderful I have 
ever heard.” 

“Ah, — you do,” said the musician, his face 
flushing, his eye brilliant. Tt is long — ah, so 


234 Lucile on the Heights 

long since any one said that to me. If you will 
help me to rise I will play to you. I will play 
— ” he was almost to his feet when Mrs. Wescott 
interfered again. 

“Oh, please,” she said, softly. “We have pre- 
pared you something to eat. The girls will be 
disappointed if you won’t let them serve you.” 

“It will be as you wish, madam,” he said, re- 
signing himself with a courtly gesture, so strange 
in this wandering, half-mad musician — yet, con- 
sidering his origin, so natural, after all. 

The boys and girls about the fire exchanged 
significant glances and Jessie moved close to Lu- 
cile. 

“Lucy,” she whispered, her eyes big and round, 
“look at my hand — it’s trembling!” 

“So is mine,” said Lucile, laughing unsteadily, 
then added, with a quick intake of breath, “it 
all seems so unreal. And, Jessie dear — watch him 
eat. Why he must have been half-starved.” 

And as he ate, the musician glanced about at 
the eager, solicitous young faces and gradually the 
tense lines of his own relaxed and there crept 


The Wail of the Violin 


235 


over it an expression, peaceful, almost dreamy. 

From time to time a smile played about his 
lips — the merest ghost of a smile, yet infinitely 
haunting. It spoke of the time when not only the 
lips but the heart had smiled when health, happi- 
ness, fame had been his, by right of his great 
genius. 

After a time he set aside his plate and without 
a word lifted his eyes and began to play. Long 
years afterward the girls recalled that night, re- 
membered it with a quickening heart and a catch 
in their breath. 

The wonderful moon, the rippling water, the 
deep shadows of the woodland and the dancing 
glare of the flames playing upon the bowed white 
head and flying fingers of the musician, made a 
picture stamped indelibly upon their memories — 
never to be erased or dulled by time. 

And oh, the music, the exquisite genius of his 
music. It held them, swayed them, made them 
captive to its every mood. 

It must have been two hours he played on, un- 
wearyingly, passionately, broodingly and when the 


236 Lucile on the Heights 

last silver note had died and floated off into the 
silver night there were tears in their eyes and a 
look of exaltation on their faces. It was as 
though, lifted high on the wings of melody, they 
had been given a glimpse of another world. 

They were still motionless, striving to analyze 
the new emotions that throbbed within them, 
scarcely daring to breathe for fear of breaking the 
spell, when the musician himself rose abruptly to 
his feet. 

In an instant they had surrounded him, pleading 
with him, begging him not to go, but he shook his 
head. 

“No,” he said, the old sadness and wistfulness 
returning, “I will rest when I have found him — 
when I have found him — ” 

“But you will come again?” they cried. 

He nodded, smiling his slow smile upon them. 

“Yes, I will come again,” he promised. “My 
violin sings well to you.” 

Then, without even a backward glance, he went 
from the bright light of moon and fire into the 
black shadows of the forest. 


The Wail of the Violin 


287 


They stood for a moment gazing after him, 
then turned away, silent, thoughtful, still under 
the spell of that strange, exalted mood. 

When at last the fire had been dimmed and 
Jack turned to say good-night to Lucile he was 
surprised to see tears glistening on her face. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, in answer to his 
startled look, and feeling frantically for a hand- 
kerchief. “I — I’m so silly, Jack.” 

“You’re an angel,” he contradicted fervently, 
producing his own big handkerchief. “If any- 
body’s dared to make you unhappy — ” 

“Oh, hush,” she cried, putting a hand over his 
lips, “I’m not unhappy — for myself, anyway. It’s 
oh, Jack,” she turned upon him almost fiercely, 
“if you care anything for me at all you’ll — you’ll 
find that boy — ” 

“If I care,” he cried, making a quick motion 
toward her, then, checking himself, stood looking 
down upon her eagerly. 

“And my reward, Lucile — my reward — ” 

“Do — do you need a reward for doing an un- 
selfish thing?” she murmured, protesting. 


238 Lucile on the Heights 

“You bet I do/’ the reply was shameless and 
masterful. “If I find some way to bring the boy 
here — that day — will you — Lucile — will you — look 
at me — ” 

“I won’t,” she said, rebelliously. “I won’t look 
at you if I don’t feel like it.” 

“Lucile,” he cried, impatiently, pleadingly, “I 
don’t care whether you look at me or not as long 
as you let me look at you. I asked you a ques- 
tion.” 

She glanced at him a little of the old mischief 
twinkling beneath the long lashes. 

“You — you find the boy first,” she said. “And 
then I’ll — see.” 

Then she was gone and Jack was left to gaze up 
at the moon with a face as radiant as its own. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A DANGEROUS PROJECT 

“Lucy, let me in.” 

It was Jessie’s voice in a very wee whisper, 
close to Lucile’s sleeping elbow. It was not a 
really sleeping elbow — Jessie had decided that, 
after watching it for a full five minutes — only a 
would-be one. 

All of which means, of course that Lucile, while 
being awake — oh, very much awake indeed — was 
feigning sleep in the hope, now grown desperate, 
of being alone for a few minutes with some very 
happy thoughts. 

However, with the first wee whisper at her 
elbow went the last wee shred of hope and she 
turned over with a sigh. 

“What wouldst thou?” she murmured, drowsily. 
“Wast not aware I slumbered?” 

“No, I wasn’t,” said Jessie, scrambling in and 
almost shoving Lucile out on the other side. “Par- 


239 


240 Lucile on the Heights 

don, sweet maid,” in response to a stare from the 
latter. ‘‘These cots were built for beauty more 
than comfort.” 

“You flatter yourself,” said Lucile, twinkling. 
“All my lessons in modesty gone for nothing.” 

“Goose,” said Jessie. “I meant the beds were 
built for beauty — not the gentle fairies that lie 
thereon. Now maybe you can explain why you 
were out later than all the rest last night,” she 
added, fixing an accusing eye upon Lucile’s flushed 
prettiness. “We heard you whispering — ” 

“I don’t care if you did,” said Lucile, defiantly, 
raising herself on one elbow. “I just made Jack 
promise he’d find the boy for our wonderful musi- 
cian — whether he could or not!” 

“Lucy,” Jessie sat up with a start and eyed her 
friend with dancing eyes. “Of course, it’s too 
ridiculous — 'but I made Phil promise the very same 
thing.” 

Lucile laughed a little rippling laugh of pure 
triumph. 

“Now the thing’s settled,” she said, adding, 
with astounding irrelevance and a gleeful hug, 
“oh, Jessie, aren’t we crazy?” 


241 


A Dangerous Project 

“Yes.” said Jessie, adding with a chuckle, “and 
somehow I have a feeling that we’re always going 
to be.” 

“Well, I don’t know why you shouldn’t,” said 
a mocking voice behind them and screwing round 
they beheld Evelyn, sitting up in bed and rubbing 
her eyes sleepily. “You always have been and 
there’s no use trying to reform now.” 

“Goodness, you’re just as bad,” retored Jessie. 
“What is it about casting a mote from your 
own — ” 

“You mean a drawbridge,” corrected Evelyn, in- 
dulgently. “Nobody ever casts a mote.” 

“This kind of mote hasn’t a drawbridge, silly,” 
corrected Jessie, witheringly. “There’s more than 
one kind of a mote.” 

“Well, every mote I ever heard of had a draw- 
bridge,” Evelyn contended sturdily. “How do you 
suppose the old nights and squires and things ever 
went out to fight for their ladies eyebrow — it 
always seemed a silly thing to do, anyway — why 
they always cared so much about their old eye- 
brows, I can’t imagine. And why anybody should 
fight for ’em — ” 

“But I didn’t mean that kind — ” 


242 Lucile on the Heights 

‘‘And if there wasn’t any drawbridge,” Evelyn 
continued, unheedingly, “the knights would have 
to swim across and get their silks and velvets all 
wet. How long do you suppose they could afford 
that?” 

They giggled and Lucile interposed, with a 
chuckle, 

“I never knew that in the old days the knights 
went into battle with their court clothes on,” she 
twinkled. “But if you say so, Evelyn — ” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” said 
Evelyn, slipping out of bed and coming toward 
them, “but I do know you look altogether too 
comfortable.” 

“Goodness, how deceitful looks can be,” mur- 
mured Jessie. “If you knew how near I am to 
destruction — Evelyn,” she wailed, drawing up her 
feet as that young person prepared to pounce 
upon them. “If you must sit somewhere, try 
Lucy — she’s much more comfortable.” 

Lucile made a little grimace and clambered 
over the head of the cot. 


243 


A Dangerous Project 

“Since my room seems to be wanted more 
than my company,” she said, whimsically, “I 
hereby tender you my side, Evelyn, dear.” 

“Goodness, she’s not giving up much,” laughed 
Jessie, eyeing the square inch of space recently 
occupied by Lucile. “At the rate you’re gaining 
weight, Evelyn,” she added, wickedly, “you could- 
n’t get more than one foot in.” 

“I could too,” Evelyn protested, hotly. “And 
I’m not fat — I’m not — ” 

“If you don’t believe her, ask Jim,” chuckled 
Lucile, then in a whirl of penitence caught 
Evelyn’s plump little figure in a bear’s embrace. 

“Never mind, dear,” she consoled. “We all 
tease but we can’t help knowing you’re just 
exactly right. Tell Jim we agree with him there.” 

“Jim never said,” she began, then seeing two 
pairs of girlish eyes fixed upon her accusingly, 
dropped her own in confusion and flushed scarlet. 

“Well, not just like that, anyway,” she fin- 
ished, lamely. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” they cried, joining hands and 
dancing about her. “She thought she could fool 


244 Lucile on the Heights 

her aunties, but she couldn’t,’' adding, in a fiend- 
ish sort of chant — 

“She gave herself away — she gave herself 
away — ” 

“If you don’t leave me alone,” cried Evelyn, 
desperately, “I — I’ll — ” 

“We’re not going to leave you alone,” said 
Lucile, despotically. “Not until you tell us what 
we want to know.” 

Together they dragged their captive, half-pro- 
testing, half -laughing to the cot and sat her down 
between them. 

Lucile held one hand and Jessie the other and 
although she looked longingly toward the tent flap 
which was open to the morning sunlight, there 
was no rescue in sight — so with a sigh of resigna- 
tion she turned to them. 

“Well?” she queried. 

“Is he nice?” 

“Who?” 

“Jim, of course,” their grasp tightened warn- 
ingly. “Don’t try any of that!” 

“Well, of course, he’s rather nice. Don’t you 
like him?” 


A Dangerous Project 245 

“That isn’t the point — do you? Yes or no.’* 

“Yes!” 

“Good — does he like you?” 

“H — how do I know?” 

“Yes or no!” Lucile’s voice was stentorian. 

“Y — yes.” 

“Good — how much?” 

Dead silence. 

“How much ? Answer !” 

“How can I?” 

“Why not?” 

Evelyn’s expression was demure. 

“To a question of how much, shall I answer yes 
— or no?” she asked. 

Disconcerted, the girls laughed and hugged the 
prisoner between them. 

“The point is well taken,” said Lucile, still in 
a hollow voice. “The prisoner is condemned from 
now on to life-servitude — ” 

“What kind?” queried Evelyn, innocently. 

“Ask Jim!” 

“Oh, do be sensible,” she cried, but the girls 
only laughed at her and she was forced to accept 
the verdict. 


246 Lucile on the Heights 

“After all,” she mused as they hustled into their 
bathing suits a few minutes later, “it wasn’t such 
a terrible verdict — there might be worse!” 

As they stepped out upon the dew-laden grass, 
and took in long breaths of the exhilarating air, 
they saw that it was very early. 

The sun, new risen and low in the horizon, sent 
hazy shafts of light down upon the new-awakened 
world, touching trees and shrubs and water with 
a misty radiance. Birds twittered and chirped and 
trilled a welcome to the morning while a squirrel 
peeped at them behind the gnarled trunk of a 
great tree, then clambered nimbly up it, chatting 
noisily at this untimely disturbance. 

A little molly cottontail, caught also unawares, 
scurried along beneath their very noses and look- 
ing neither to right or left, bounded off among the 
trees — its absurd mite of a tail bobbing defiance. 

It was so sweet and fresh and virginal, that the 
girls stood still for a moment, drinking it in, re- 
velling in it, while every nerve and fibre in them re- 
sponded joyously. Just to be alive — . 

Then their gaze travelled to the blackened em- 


A Dangerous Project 247 

bers of last night’s camp fire and instantly the 
same thought struck them all. 

“It was beautiful,” said Lucile, in hushed tones. 
“I’ll never, never forget it. Girls,” she turned to 
them, very pretty and very serious, “the camp 
fire’s greatest law is to help others. So far we 
have lived up to it pretty well — if we fall down 
now — ” 

“But Lucy,” Jessie protested, “we’re not going 
to fall down. We’ll try our best—” 

“But that isn’t enough,” broke in Lucile, adding 
almost as though she were talking to herself, “if 
we could ^nly do something — However,” with 
a sigh, “of course we can’t do anything till we 
consult our guardian, so come on — let’s get the 
preliminaries over, anyway.” 

Then there was the twinkle of flying feet, three 
simultaneous splashes in the crystal clear waters 
of the lake and the preliminaries were begun. 

“Oh, but it’s cold this morning,” said Lucile, 
shaking the water from her eyes and striking out 
happily. “It makes your blood race.” 

After breakfast a meeting of the clans was 


248 Lucile on the Heights 

called. When the young folks gathered around 
Mrs. Wescott they were so fresh and glowing that 
youth and health seemed fairly to emanate from 
them — yet an atmosphere of gravity surrounded 
them and their faces were unusually serious as 
they prepared to listen. 

“Girls and boys,” said Mrs. Wescott, looking 
fondly about her, “I know we were all deeply 
moved by what happened last night.” There was 
a murmur of assent and they crowded nearer. 

“We heard the romantic story of a poor Italian 
musician, who having home, fame, a wife and 
finally, his son — his solitary consolation in his 
hour of trouble, became an outcast, an object of 
pity wherever he went. 

“After last night we must stop thinking of the 
story in the abstract — we must make it our per- 
sonal business.” 

“Hooray,” cried Phil, but immediately subsided 
beneath a look from Jessie. 

“Probably we are the only ones who know of 
the presence of a crippled boy in the gypsy camp,” 
their guardian continued. “Therefore, upon us 


A Dangerous Project 249 

rests the responsibility of finding out whether the 
boy really belonged to the big gypsy who mal- 
treated him — or whether he is, in fact, the son of 
our poor musician. Toward this end we must 
leave no stone unturned.” 

There burst another whoop of delight from 
Phil, and this time, so far from being restrained, 
it was taken up by them all in a hearty chorus of 
approbation. 

“I knew just how you would all feel about it,” 
said Mrs. Wescott, when she could make herself 
heard, looking fondly round upon them. “Not 
every group of girls and boys would give up their 
personal enjoyment, especially when there is so 
little of the vacation left, to follow up a blind 
trail which may lead to disappointment in the end. 

“Then it is thoroughly understood. We will 
give up everything else till we have satisfied our- 
selves that we have done our best to prove or 
disprove our theory. Is that right?” 

There was a unanimous roar, above which Lu- 
cile’s voice rang out, full and clear. 

“If we didn’t,” she said, fiercely, “we wouldn’t 


be fit to live.” 


250 Lucile on the Heights 

There was another cheer, mingled with laughter 
and after this had died down, Mrs. Wescott con- 
cluded her little speech. 

“Of course/’ she said, “it is necessary, first of 
all to find someone who knew the boy before he 
disappeared and enlist that someone’s help. Mr. 
Wescott thinks the best one in this case would be 
old Peter Bingle. He has no ties of any kind and 
might be willing to join in the adventure.” 

“Hooray,” cried Phil again. “When do wq 
seek out the lion in his den?” 

“Yes, when?” cried a score of impatient voices. 

Mrs. Wescott looked demurely about her, paus- 
ing for dramatic effect. 

“Mr. Wescott advises,” she said, gravely, “that 
we start at once!” 

“Hooray,” cried Phil, released at last from all 
restraint. “Hooray for Mrs. Wescott and hooray 
for Mr. Wescott — hooray for everything. Come 
on, fellows — give ’er a tiger!” 

From which it may be gathered that Phil’s 
spirits were ascending! 


CHAPTER XX 

REINFORCEMENT 


Nor were Phil’s spirits alone in the ascendant. 
To lend a helping hand had become so much a 
part of our girls’ characters, through daily asso- 
ciation with the lofty ideals of the camp fire, that 
their happiness had become largely to depend upon 
the happiness they could bring to others. 

Now that fate had -given them an opportunity 
greater than they had ever had before, was it any 
wonder that faces glowed and breath came quickly 
in anticipation? 

Yet the prospect of adventure was not so allur- 
ing as to blind Lucile to other, and in her mind, al- 
most equally important interests. Dave was still 
amazingly attentive to her and seemed, in like 
proportion, unaware of Margaret’s existence. 

“He doesn’t seem to see her,” she said to her- 
self, exasperated by the dark shadows beneath 
Margaret’s eyes and the pathetic cheerfulness of 


251 


252 


Lucille on the Heights 


her smile. “If he could only see her just once as 
we see her, he couldn’t help falling in love with 
her. I’ve got to do something — I won't have her 
hurt!” 

But what that something was to be, Lucile was 
at a loss to imagine. When one began to meddle, 
she mused, they usually made things ten times 
worse than they were before. 

She sighed and Dave, who had been covertly 
studying her profile, laughed at her teasingly. 

“Why so doleful, fair lady?” he chided. “One 
so beautiful should be proportionately happy. A 
penny for your thoughts.” 

“They wouldn’t be worth it,” she answered 
crossly, struggling with an almost uncontrollable 
desire to take his two broad shoulders and shake 
him into some degree of reasonableness. Why 
would he be so blind? 

“Let’s hurry,” she added, abruptly, realizing that 
they were being left behind. 

Then, as though fate had at last decided to take 
a hand in this difficult game, something happened 
to open Dave’s reluctant eyes. 


Reinforcement 


253 


Just as the latter, protesting vigorously at her 
haste and Lucile, tantalizingly pretty in her im- 
patience with him, overtook the others of the 
party, a sharp cry from Margaret made them all 
pause and turn to her. 

There she was, all crumpled up in a pathetic 
little heap upon the ground, trying bravely to 
smile through white lips. 

“Margaret,” they cried and ran to her. 

“It’s nothing,” she deprecated as they clustered 
anxiously about her, and Dave stooped to lift her 
to her feet. “I stumbled over a root and — turned 
my — ankle a little — I guess.” 

She was standing now, with Dave supporting 
her but as she attempted to step on the injured 
foot, a little “oh — h” of pain escaped her. 

Then Mrs. Wescott pushed them all aside and 
set Margaret down upon the grass, preparing to 
examine the little ankle to see how badly it had 
been hurt. 

The boys strolled off, looking anxious, for Mar- 
garet was a favorite with them all. It was 
strange to see how every one persisted in regarding 


254 Lucile on the Heights 

her as a little girl and could not see how rapidly 
she was growing up. 

The hurt was not serious, though at the time, 
and perhaps for several days to come it would be 
very painful and the girls with their first aid kits 
always at hand, had soon made the little patient as 
comfortable as circumstances permitted. 

When the boys came back the girls were just 
lifting her to her feet and Dave once more offered 
his assistance. 

“I guess I can walk all right now/' said the 
little patient, waving him aside — though her face 
flushed vividly at the touch of his hand. "Any- 
way, Fm not going to spoil the party just because 
I was silly enough to stumble. Oh — I — -catffc 
— ” the cry was wrenched from her and she would 
have fallen had not a dozen hands reached out 
to save her. 

"Oh, Fm so sorry,” she said, thinking as always 
of the others and never of herself. "I didn’t want 
to spoil the fun. Perhaps if someone would help 
me I could walk it anyway.” 

There was a general protest and the next mo- 


Reinforcement 


255 


ment, before anyone could realize what was hap- 
pening, Dave had lifted her up and was striding 
on ahead of them. 

“Margaret Stillman/’ Lucile had heard him say, 
as he passed her with his brilliantly blushing little 
burden, “you’ve got the spirit of your father — 
and more than that I couldn’t say for anyone.” 

With trembling lips and starry eyes she turned 
to Jessie who had been watching the little scene 
with an interest only second to her own. 

“Jessie,” she whispered, “it’s happened. He’s 
really seen her — seen our Margaret as she really 
is. Now if he doesn’t fall in love with her I’ll 
give him up.” 

“Oh, he will, don’t worry,” said Jessie glee- 
fully. “What with your snubbing and his pity 
and admiration for Margaret — oh, the rest’s 
bound to follow.” 

“And it all came from a simple, little fall,” 
Lucile marveled, adding, whimsically, “I’m going 
back and tie a ribbon around that blessed old 
root!” 

For some little time longer they tramped on, 


256 Lucile on the Heights 

unwearied by the miles they had traversed and 
Dave apparently not conscious of Margaret's 
slight weight, until suddenly Mr. Wescott held up 
a warning hand. 

“Just a hundred yards more,” he said, “and 
we’ll be upon the clearing. You girls have 
marched as well as the boys. Never again will 
I wonder when my wife waxes enthusiastic over 
the camp fire. Look,” he added, pointing to where 
a thin column of smoke could be seen through 
the trees, “we’ve been lucky enough to catch old 
Pete at home.” 

They rushed forward eagerly and soon came 
to the clearing, in the center of which stood a very 
ugly log hut. The sound of something sizzling 
and a savory odor caused Phil to sniff longingly 
and quicken his pace. 

Before they reached the cabin, Mr. Wescott 
gave the call of a curlew, twice repeated. The 
signal seemed to be a familiar one, for immedi- 
ately the old hunter appeared, holding a dis- 
reputable looking frying pan in one hand and a 
fork in the other. 


Reinf or cement 


257 


“Waal, waal, how be ye?” he greeted them, 
smiling his toothless albeit hearty grin. “I’m 
mighty glad ter see ye, Mrs. Wescott and the 
boys an’ gals. Ye’re jes’ in time fer a bite o’ 
lunch.” He indicated the frying pan, in which 
several luscious slices of bacon were still siz- 
zling. 

“Why, you see, Pete, we brought some of our 
own,” Mr. Wescott explained, indicating the 
promising-looking hampers. “Come, bring your 
bacon out here and we’ll pool the lunch.” 

The hunter grinned delightedly. 

“Seein’s I ain’t tasted nothin’ but my own 
cookin’ this ten year back,” he said, “which ain’t 
nothin’ compared to what you ladies alius turns 
out,” with a bow to Mrs. Wescott, “I hereby ex- 
cept the pleasure, as them there weddin’ invita- 
tions says. Sorry I ain’t got no chairs to offer 
ye,” he added, apologetically. “I’m the proud 
possessor o’ one what only has three legs — count 
o’ th’ kiddies’ trick bear settin’ onto it.” 

The girls giggled, recalling the incident of the 
trick bear while Mrs. Wescott assured the old 


258 Lucile on the Heights 

trapper that they had not used chairs in so long 
they wouldn’t know what to do with them— 
which, while not being strictly true, was certainly 
permissible under the circumstances. 

Long accustomed to the delight of picnicing 
and very skillful in the art of hurrying, they had 
everything out and ready by the time old Peter 
had finished frying his bacon. 

The latter, happy at the chance of having some- 
one to talk to, began straightway to tell them 
“the sweet story of his life” as Phil afterward 
said, while the young folks, their hearts set upon 
one thing and one thing alone, grew more and 
more impatient as time went on till they could 
hardly sit still. 

At any other time they would have found his 
anecdotes extremely interesting and amusing, but 
at the moment he bored them excessively and 
they wondered why Mr. Wescott couldn’t in some 
way find an opening. 

Finally the garrulous old voice stopped for a 
second and Mr. Wescott promptly seized his op- 
portunity. After that, all sense of boredom van- 
ished. 


Reinforcement 


259 


The old trapper listened attentively to the 
graphic story, then getting to his feet so abruptly 
that a couple of biscuits and a glass of jelly went 
rolling over into the grass, began to pace up and 
down excitedly. 

“By gum,” he cried, slapping his leg and turn- 
ing about while they watched him breathlessly. 
“By gum, ef I don’t think thar is somethin’ in 
that thar tale o’ yourn. Gypsies, ye say? Funny 
I never hitched on to that thar idea afore. Nice 
a little kid as ye ever see, too — ef, as ye say they 
stole him, they must a stole his fiddle along with 
him—” 

“Why, of course they did/’ cried Lucile, her 
eyes shining. “The boy could play and that, with 
his being crippled, could bring in more money for 
them.” 

Old Pete nodded thoughtfully. 

“More’n likely 'twas that,” he said. “An’ say, 
that thar kid could play — fair to bring tears to 
yer eyes, ’twas. Wish’t I’d see the kid ye run 
down.” 

“That’s just the point,” Mr. Wescott put in 


260 Lucile on the Heights 

quickly. “If we rescued the wrong boy, we’d let 
ourselves in for a lot of trouble. You’re the 
only one who could identify him — ” he paused 
suggestively. 

The old trapper’s parchment face lightened 
eagerly and his eyes snapped. 

“Ye’re a-askin’ o’ me ter go into it along with 
ye?” he asked. 

“Will you?” 

They leaned forward, all eyes fixed anxiously 
upon him. 

“Go into it,” he cried, “go into it — why, ye 
couldn’t keep me out with one o’ them thar new 
fangled torpedoes — nice little toys I hear they be. 
We’ll git that thar kid for his ole man, ef we hev 
ter shoot the last durned gypsy. Thar’s my hand 
onto it!” 


CHAPTER XXI 

THROUGH THE NIGHT 

A week passed and still the boys with old 
Peter’s aid had found no trace of the gypsy band. 
Then suddenly, one day, they had come upon a 
clue. 

Deep in the heart of the forest they had met 
an old man who remembered having seen a cara- 
van pass that way a few days before and had 
shown them with a sweep of his hand the general 
direction it had taken. 

Eagerly the old trapper with the boys at his 
heels followed up the trail and, in the end, came 
upon the object of their long and tireless search. 

Glimpses of the fantastic clothing of both men 
and women came to them as they lay concealed 
among the trees. Then, when darkness had fallen 
and they could do so without attracting any undue 
attention to themselves, they stole silently away, 
filled with a tremendous excitement and the joy 
of triumph. 


261 


262 Lucile on the Heights 

So now, on this day, just at the edge of dusk 
both camps were waiting tensely for the arrival 
of an auto from Brandenburg which would bear 
them swiftly on what might indeed prove to be a 
dangerous mission. 

“If it were only ourselves,” Lucile was saying, 
tremulously, “I wouldn’t care — but it seems as 
though I couldn’t let the boys go. Jack and 
Phil—” 

“Good evening.” 

The girls turned with a start to find the boys 
looking gravely down upon them. 

“Oh, I — we — I was just speaking of you,” she 
stammered, incoherently, while Jessie’s gaze wan- 
dered off to the far horizon and remained fixed 
there unseeingly. 

“Boys,” she continued, looking up at them 
pleadingly, “you will take care of yourselves, 
won’t you? If anything should happen — ” her 
voice broke and she turned her head away. 

“Oh, don’t worry about us, little sister,” said 
Phil, striving to speak in his usual light tones. 
“We’re not worth it, and besides, nothing's going 


Through the Night 263 

to happen to us — only regular guys get come up 
with. How about it, Jack?” 

“The truth at last,” said Jessie, turning upon 
them with a flash of her old spirit. “Some day 
when you’re posing as heroes, we’ll remind you of 
it. What’s that — ” She paused while the others 
listened breathless. 

“It’s the old bus all right,” said Phil, with his 
usual irreverence. “Say, I wish it didn’t rattle 
so confounded loud. It’ll put the gypsies wise 
to us a mile away.” 

“Plere comes old Pete,” announced Jack, gaz- 
ing down the dusky tree-bordered path. “Gad, 
he sure does look like business, with good old 
trusty slung over his shoulder.” 

“Oh,” cried Lucile, with a little shudder. “I 
forgot you had to carry rifles. Suppose they 
should go off.” 

“It’s to be hoped they do,” said Phil, jocu- 
larly. “Guns are usually made with that idea, 
you know.” 

“Don’t be so silly,” said Jessie, cross because 
she couldn’t help being nervous. “This isn’t any 
time for joking.” 


264 Lucile on the Heights 

“All right,” said Phil irrepressibly. “I’ll cry 
if it will make the company feel more cheerful. 
Say, Jack, let’s be getting along.” 

“All right,” Jack responded, then, turning to 
Lucile, whose face he could scarcely see in the 
fast-gathering dusk, he said, softly, “don’t 
worry, little Lucile. We’ll be back in a few hours 
with the boy and never a scratch to show for it. 
We won’t even have the fun of looking heroic — ” 
“Don’t,” cried Lucile, in a stifled voice. 

“And if you’re tired,” he continued, still more 
gently, “try to get a little sleep and by the time 
you wake up — ” 

“Wake up,” repeated Lucile, in a very little 
voice, “why, do you suppose I could sleep — 
“Does finding that boy mean so much to you?” 
Jack demanded in a strange tone. 

“Oh,” returned Lucile naively, thrown com- 
pletely off her guard. “I wasn’t thinking of him 
at least — at least — not then — ” 

“Then who was it?” he demanded, towering 
imperiously above her. “Hurry, I hear them 
coming — who was it — ” 


Through the Night 265 

“Oh, very well,” she said, straightening up and 
speaking with a mixture of demure defiance and 
sweetness in her tone that sent his blood pounding 
madly to his head, “if you must know, his name 
is — ” 

“What,” he demanded, leaning forward to 
catch the whispered word. 

“Jack — ” floated back to him — and in his mo- 
ment of delirium Jack marveled that he had 
never known the wonderful possibilities of his 
name before. Uttered there in the darkness by 
the girl who had been his ambition ever since 
their eyes had met, it seemed sweeter than the 
sweetest music — more potent than the breath of 
spring. 

“Lucile,” he whispered, unsteadily, “I won’t 
have to wait till I come back for my reward, Lu- 
cile, give it to me now — ” 

“There isn’t time,” she answered, softly. 
“They’re calling you, Jack — you’ve got to go.” 

“Oh, I’m going,” he cried, squaring his shoul- 
ders joyfully and breathing in deep breaths of 
the dew-scented air. “But, remember, I’m com- 


266 Lucile on the Heights 

ing back again — soon — Lucile, where are you?” 
“Here.” 

“Give me your hand.” 

Breathlessly she obeyed and just for a moment 
he pressed it to his lips. 

“Fm coming back,” he whispered fiercely and 
strode off into the dark to join the others. 

Left alone, Lucile pressed her hand to one 
soft cheek and leaned against the great gnarled 
trunk of a nearby tree. 

“Jack,” she whispered, into its friendly bark, 
“take care of yourself — for my sake.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

SNATCHED FROM CAPTIVITY 

Three, four, five hours passed and still no 
sound to break the uncanny stillness of the wood- 
land. In the open space between the camps 
danced the sputtered and gleamed a huge fire, an 
occasional leaping flame sending a lurid glare far 
into the shadows beyond. 

And around the fire in every conceivable atti- 
tude, lounged in sleepy thoughtfulness or sat ir? 
moody meditation or fidgeted in frank restless- 
ness our camp fire girls and the boys who had 
not been allowed a share in the adventure. 

Mr. and Mrs. Wescott sat together at one end, 
conversing in low tones, but on their faces was 
an expression of strained expectancy and they 
paused to listen often. 

“If anything should happen to them,” Mrs. 
Wescott whispered, “we should never forgive 
ourselves. You know, Jack, we are responsi- 
ble—” 


267 


268 Lucile on the Heights 

“But they’re of age,” her husband protested, 
looking immensely uneasy, even as he strove to 
sound reassuring. “Besides,” he added, rather 
lamely, “all boys bear charmed lives — ” 

“Listen,” cried Mrs. Wescott, and the sibilant 
hiss of the word went about the circle, jerking 
the girls and boys to attentive attitudes as though 
she had pulled a string. 

Far away, yet distinct and unmistakable, came 
to their straining ears the soft put-putting of a 
motor, growing louder with each moment — the 
rapidly increasing crescendo showing the speed 
at which the machine must be travelling. 

For a moment there was a silence so intense 
about the fire that the crackling of a twig jarred 
upon their nerves like the report of a cannon and 
Lucile put up her hand impatiently, as though to 
brush the sound away. 

Then suddenly, as if the louder purring had 
galvanized them into action, they sprang to their 
feet and with a shout they rushed blindly through 
the underbrush toward the gleaming stretch of 
road. 


Snatched from Captivity; 269 

The moon had risen and shone upon them 
pale and cold, making the scene as weird and 
unreal as the fantastic figment of a dream. 

So far, not a word had been spoken — their 
feverish excitement, the mystery of the moment, 
held them in a spell they were powerless to break. 
Always their eyes were straining tensely down 
that stretch of moon-illumined road. 

“Ah-h-h,” the exclamation escaped almost like 
a sigh and spread about the group. They 
crowded nearer to the road. 

Over the brow of a hill about a quarter of a 
mile distant had flashed two brilliant glowing 
eyes — the headlights of an automobile. 

That sudden welcome flash broke the spell that 
bound them as easily as a cord is snapped. The 
boys cheered hoarsely while the girls pressed 
forward, watching eagerly for another glimpse 
of that gleam through the night. 

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” whispered 
Evelyn, a tear rolling down her face and another 
resting upon the tip of her upturned nose. “I 
knew they’d do it. Why, Lucy,” she added, star- 


270 Lucile on the Heights 

tied by the coldness of Lucile’s hand as it slipped 
into hers, “what is it, dear — you — you frighten 

__ ty 

me. 

“Nonsense,” said Lucile, striving valiantly to 
still the quivering of her lips. “A — rather horrid 
thought struck me, that’s all — ” 

“What was it?” 

Jessie put a gentle arm about Lucile’ s shoul- 
ders and Evelyn, doing the same, brought the 
three friends very close together. 

“A horrid thought, Lucy?” Evelyn prompted. 
“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” Lucile answered, her 
voice scarcely above a whisper. “Only, I’m so 
horribly afraid of those rifles — ” 

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Jessie, patting her 
reassuringly. “If any of those guns went off they 
were pointed toward the gypsies, that’s a sure 
thing—” 

But just at that moment the bright lights swung 
round the curve and there was no further time 
for fears or doubts or speculations. 

With a great shout the boys and girls raced 
out upon the open road, while the car, jolting and 


Snatched from Captivity 271 

bumping at perilous speed over the uneven road, 
dashed down to meet them. 

Two flying figures leaped from the machine 
before it had time to stop and landed almost in 
the arms of the noisy, excited group. 

“Hey, give a fellow a chance, can't you?” was 
Phil’s characteristic greeting, shouting to make 
himself heard above the clamor. “Gangway, gang- 
way — room for the triumphal march. Hey, Jack, 
are you there, old chappie?” 

“I am yet,” Jack shouted back. “Gad, it’s 
about time someone rescued the rescuers. Let go 
my toe there, Charlie — you don’t need it.” 

“But did you get him?” cried Jessie, shaking 
Phil’s arm impatiently, while Jack shook himself 
free of Charlie, one of the younger boys, and 
approached Lucile. “Phil, did you?” 

“Come and see for yourself,” said Phil, the 
vibrant ring of pure triumph in his voice. “Gee, 
make believe we haven’t enjoyed ourselves.” 

As they all surged forward toward the ma- 
chine, which had stopped some distance down the 
road, Jack slipped an arm through Lucile’s and 
looked down on her joyfully. 


272 


Lucile on the Heights 


“Well, we did it,” he said. 

“Oh, I’m glad,” she cried, fervently. “And 
you weren’t hurt, Jack?” 

“Were you frightened?” he asked, irrelevantly. 

“Most awfully.” 

Jack threw back his head and laughed trium- 
phantly up at the stars. 

“Oh, you big fool moon up there,” he cried, 
his voice a-thrill with gladness, “you think you’re 
a lot, don’t you, but I’m more in the clouds than 
you to-night.” 

Lucile laughed up at him, her face bewitch- 
ingly dimpled and mischievous in the silver light. 

“And like the moon,” she added, whimsically, 
“I have a feeling that we’re never, never going 
to come down to earth,” and she was off to join 
the others gathered around the auto, leaving Jack 
to follow on feet that refused to touch the ground. 

“Look, Lucy,” cried Jessie, catching her about 
the waist and wedging her into a square inch of 
space so that she might see the outlandishly-garbed, 
shrinking little figure in the center of the group. 
“Isn’t he the most pitiful little thing you ever 


Snatched from Captivity 273 

saw? His eyes are the only thing about him that 
seem to be alive.” 

Mrs. Wescott with a compassionate cry had run 
forward and gathered the child to her, looking 
down in pitying wonder at his emaciated figure 
and pale little face in which, as Jessie had said, 
only the eyes seemed alive. 

Then suddenly she looked up and began issu- 
ing orders in her old authoritative manner. 

“Well,” she said, with a smile that showed her 
pretty teeth, “I know you’re all dying to know 
how Mr. Bingle,” with a bright glance at old 
Peter that made his parchment face crack into a 
million wrinkles, “and our boys did this wonder- 
ful thing — ” 

There was a general murmur of assent and a 
scraping of impatient feet. 

“But,” continued their little guardian, inexor- 
ably, “we must first get back to the fire and build 
it into the finest blaze you ever saw. Look, the 
child is shivering. Besides,” she added, with rare 
diplomacy, “the girls have prepared sandwiches 
and coffee — ” 


274 Lucile on the Heights 

“Oh, boy,” cried Phil, ecstatically, “if we’d 
known what was coming we’d have wiped out the 
whole gypsy band. Come on, you fellows, see 
that you do just exactly as Mrs. Wescott says. 
Don a move, as we Englishmen say — eh, what?” 

In spite of their disappointment in not getting 
the story immediately they laughed — everybody 
had long since gotten over trying not to laugh at 
Phil — and on their way back, Jessie turned up 
her little nose at him. 

“I believe,” she said disdainfully, “you would 
laugh at your own funeral.” 

“Sure I would,” he answered promptly. 

“May I ask,” she retorted with elaborate po- 
liteness, “just what you would find to laugh at?” 

“Myself,” he answered, adding with a sudden* 
fervor that took her breath away and quite shat- 
tered her pose of inquisitor, “Fd laugh at myself 
for being such a fool as to die when I had every- 
thing in this great old world to live for. Gee, 
you bet I’d laugh.” 

“Oh-h-,” said Jessie, thankful for the darkness 
that kept her from betraying all she felt. “I — I — 
never thought of that.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

AROUND THE FIRE 


A few minutes later the woods were ringing 
with the shouts of the girls and boys as they 
threw branches and twigs upon the dying fire, 
coaxing it into a snapping, dancing, roaring blaze 
that sent its ruddy light far into the shadows be- 
yond. 

Then our girls brought out the sandwiches and 
thermos bottles of steaming coffee which they had 
prepared so many ages — or was it only hours ago. 

Then the little wasted slip of a lad, occupying 
for the time the undisputed center of the stage, 
placed in the seat of honor next Mrs. Wescott, 
they settled themselves breathlessly to listen. 

“Well, now,” said their guardian, when it 
seemed they could stand the strain no longer, 
“I guess we’re just about ready for that story. 
Will you tell us about it, Mr. Bingle?” again the 
sweet smile that made the old trapper beam de- 
lightedly. 


275 


276 Lucile on the Heights 

“Waal,” he began, with, for him, remarkable 
modesty, “seein’ as how the boys done most o’ 
the plannin’ an’ I was sort o’ what you might call 
a ‘also ran/ as the racin’ feller what got snowed 
up here one night was tellin’ us ’bout — I reckon 
as how the boys here ought to hev the spinnin’ o’ 
th’ yarn.” 

“No, siree,” cried Phil, adding enthusiastically, 
albeit disrespectfully, “if it hadn’t been for old 
Pete firing those shots just in the nick of time, 
we wouldn’t have come off so easy. How about 
it, fellows?” 

The answer was as J enthusiastic as the compli- 
ment and old Peter beamed anew. Inwardly 
everyone was thrilled by the mention of the shots 
— that was beginning to sound like something! 

“Waal,” drawled the trapper as they leaned 
toward him, expectantly, eager not to lose one 
word, “I reckon the fun begun when we wuz ’bout 
half a mile from th’ spot whar we see the gypsy 
camp t’other day.” 

“Gee, my interesting part began long before 
that,” Phil interrupted. “Jim was seeing gypsies 


Around the Fire 277 

staring at us all along the road and from the con- 
founded noise our jitney was making I more than 
half thought he might be right. Most of the time 
my hair was standing up so straight I had to 
carry my hat.” 

“Hey, down in front,” cried one of the boys 
while they laughed despite themselves. “Who y s 
telling this story, anyway?” 

“Yes, who do you think you are?” Jack queried, 
vainly trying to keep his face straight. “I had 
more sense than you, anyway— I didn’t wear a 
hat!” 

There was a fresh burst of laughter and it was 
some time before the narrator could continue. 
However, the sight of the little stranger in their 
midst gazing at them with wide, half-frightened 
eyes, did more to sober them than anything else 
could have done. Suddenly they realized the full 
import of this thing they had done. 

They had grown to mean to this little lad the 
difference between happiness and misery, and the 
more they looked upon the boy, the more they 
marveled at the courage which had led them to 
the undertaking. 


278 Lucile on the Heights 

So, more intently, more earnestly than before, 
they listened as old Peter continued. 

“When we wuz jest ’bout to th’ point whar we 
met the hermit t’other day,” he was saying, “we 
stopped th’ old gasoline wagon we was joggin’ in 
an’ hitched it to a tree. No, I reckon that ain’t 
jes’ exac’ly what I meant, neither, seein’s them 
wagons don’t generally need no hitchin’ like the 
old-fashioned kind. 

“I was alius sayin’ to mother when she was 
alive, that fur’s I could see, that thar was ’bout 
th’ only advantage them new-fangled contraptions 
has on th’ old kind — they don’t need no hitchin’ 
an’ they ain’t alius sniffin’ in yer pockets ater 
sugar — ” 

The girls moved restlessly and the boys coughed 
with obvious suggestion. However, hints had no 
more effect upon old Peter Bingle than thirty-two 
caliber bullets have upon the hide of an elephant. 

The old man puffed at his pipe for a full 
minute — while in the bright light of the fire, every 
line in his gaunt old face stood out with startling 
distinctness. 


Around the Fire 


279 


‘‘Waal, as I was sayin’,” he drawled at last 
when, as Jessie confided later, she was ready to 
scream, “we got down off’n the bus an’ begun 
sneakin’ along that last half mile o’ trail, like 
Indians hot on the scent o’ a hos-tyle tribe. Then, 
all o’ a sudden when it seemed like we’d crept 
ten miles ’stead o’ half o’ one, we seen some lights 
flickerin’ through the trees thet looked durn like 
fireflies — only redder — an’ we knowed that that 
was the camp, sure ’nough.” 

“Ah-h-h,” burst from them involuntarily and 
more than one turned to glance fearfully over his 
or her shoulder into the shadowy woodlands be- 
yond. 

‘'Well?” they added breathlessly. 

‘'Waal,” the old trapper returned, smiling into 
the fire and puffing vigorously on his old black 
pipe, "right then an’ thar our hearts popped into 
our mouths an’ I reckon th’ only thing as kep’ us 
from swallowin’ ’em was that our throats was 
closed up so tight ahind them.” 

"Were you afraid?” queried Marjorie, wide- 
eyed. 


280 Lucile on the Heights 

“No, we were only so frightened,” Phil put in, 
dryly, “that our hearts hammered in our ears like 
the alarm clock when you put it under the pillow 
to stop its ringing.” 

“I reckon thar’s such a thing as bein’ frightened 
an’ frightened,” the old trapper continued slowly. 
“I faced many a rearin’ giant c’ a bear without 
bein’ feared, no siree — but somehow, when ye’re 
fightin’ for somebody else it’s different. Yer blood 
gits hammerin’ in yer haid, like the young feller 
said, an’ yer knees feels queer. Ye’re jes’ clean 
skeered fur fear ye won’t live up to yer expecta- 
tions.” 

The old man paused and for a time there was 
deep silence. For the first time the girls and 
boys were realizing the true nobility of this man, 
old and gaunt and garrulous as he was. 

He was about to begin again when Lucile in- 
terrupted him by pointing to the boy. The latter, 
in his ragged blouse, tattered blue trousers and 
gaudy sash, had fallen asleep against their guar- 
dian’s shoulder. Soothed and warmed by the heat 
of the fire, well fed for the first time, probably 


Around the Fire 


281 


in months, exhausted by previous ill-treatment and 
the excitement of the last few hours, he had suc- 
cumbed like all creatures of the wild, when well 
fed and warm, to the urgent call of sleep. 

Something rose up in the girls’ throats as they 
realized how very much he resembled their musi- 
cian — it was strange they had not remarked it 
before. In sleep the strained lines of fear had 
disappeared and even in his emaciated condition 
the boy was beautiful. What treatment he must 
have received to change him so! 

“Waal,” continued old Peter, “we crep’ up silent 
as sperits tell we could see what was goin’ on in 
that thar camp, an’ when we see they wuz eatin’ 
we set down ter wait.” 

“Was the boy in sight then?” asked Evelyn. 

“No,” said Peter, shaking his head, “the kid 
he wuzn’t nowhar in sight an’ we begun ter think 
we might o’ found the wrong camp arter all, 
when we see him cornin’ through the trees along 
o’ the bigges’ giant o’ a man I ever see. Waal, 
the big gypsy was hittin’ the kid as they walked 
an’ the kid he was whimperin’ — I tell ye, I had to 


282 


Lucile on the Heights 


hold on purty strong to these here fellers to keep 
’em from jumpin’ at him right then an’ thar an’ 
spoilin’ the whole game.” 

“I’ll always be sorry all my life I didn’t do it,” 
muttered Jack, hands clenched tightly at his side. 
“Gad, it makes me sick to think of it, even now.” 

“Waal,” drawled the old trapper dryly, “I 
reckon as how my bullet wuz more o’ a argyment 
to that thar ole rascal than yer fists would a- 
been, young feller, even with th’ all-fired husky 
punch they got ahind them. Anyways, by hangin’ 
on to ’em with all o’ my might I managed to make 
’em lay still an’ we went on watchin’.” 

“That was the worst job I ever had,” murmured 
Phil. “I was lying on a twig and I had to keep 
on lying for fear it would sit up and make a 
noise. That darned twig had me more scared 
than a regiment of gypsies.” 

“Reckon it was kinda tiresome like,” agreed 
the narrator, “but it made us all the spryer when 
th’ time come fur us to act. We watched that 
thar gypsy an’ the little kid till they all climbed 
into the wagons an’ thar was nothin’ but a heap 


Around the Fire 283 

o’ ashes whar the fire had been burnin\ Fur a 
long time arter thet we waited till we could hear 
some o’ the old gypsies snorin’ an’ then we knew 
’twas time to act.” 

For a moment he paused and the silence was 
so intense that an owl’s mournful hoot far off in 
the forest came to them distinctly. Lucile shiv- 
ered a little and drew nearer to Jessie. 

“Waal,” he continued, knocking the ashes from 
his pipe and refilling it with painful deliberate- 
ness, “we crep’ along, almos’ flat on our stomachs, 
till we wuz purty near on top o’ the wagon we see 
the kid an’ his keeper disappearin’ into, an’ up to 
thet thar minute I reckon thar hadn’ been a peep 
out o’ none o’ us. Everythin’ was that thar quiet, 
ye could a heared a pin drap, ’cept fur the noise 
some o’ the gypsies made with their snorin’ an’ 
we picked up courage ter look inside o’ that thar 
wagon. 

“Waal, we see the kid an’ after givin’ the 
young fellers some dy-rections, I dumb aboard.” 

They drew closer to the fire, scarcely daring to 
breathe. 


284 Lucile on the Heights 

“Waal, o’ course we wuz expectin’ a fight an’ 
lots o’ other things, an’ our good old trusties wuz 
held ready in case they was needed but, Lord, it 
was easier’n takin’ candy from a infant thet thar 
first time. 

“Jes’ by luck I managed to crawl past thet thar 
big gypsy an’ found th’ little feller without dis- 
turbin’ nobody. I see by th’ flickerin' light o' 
th’ fire outside thet he wuz wide awake an’ starin’ 
at me — but I reckon th’ poor little scamp was jes’ 
so plumb skeered, he couldn’t a made no noise, 
nohow. 

“Waal, I jes’ kneeled down aside him, whis- 
perin’ thet I was a friend o’ hisn an’ liftin’ him 
up like he was nuthin’ ’tall, got clean o’ thet thar 
wagon with all the speed I knowed how. 

“The lads wuz waitin’ fer me outside an’ I 
could see by their faces ’twas all they could do 
ter keep from yellin’ when they seed thet wide- 
eyed shiverin’ little kid in my arms.” 

“But suppose the boy had made a noise,” Mr. 
Wescott queried, speaking for the first time. “The 
get-away wouldn’t have been quite so easy.” 


Around the Fire 


285 


The old trapper stretched out his long legs and 
looked at Mr. Wescott reproachfully. 

“Ye don’t suppose I didn’t think o’ thet thar,” 
he said, plaintively, adding, as his gaze again 
sought the fire, “Lord, thet wuz jes’ th’ a b c 
of the game. The young fellers an’ me, we talked 
it over on the way up to thet thar camp an’ we 
had a big han’kerchief ter gag th’ little kid ef we 
had ter. 

“But when he didn’t yell when he fust see me 
I figgered thar wuz no use wastin’ valuble time 
thataway — ’twas ten chances ter one the kid wuz 
jes’ plain paralyzed with fright. 

“Waal, ye never see sech a quick get-away as 
we made from thet thar place an’ in a few min- 
utes we reached th’ gasoline wagon where we left 
it. One o’ th’ young fellers,” with a little nod of 
the head toward Jim, “wuz ter git thet thar car 
started when he heard a hoot of a owl, three 
times over. So when we got to the road we found 
the ole engyne snortin’ away, friendly as ye 
please an’ everythin’ runnin’ smooth as silk.” 

“And all this time the boy never made a 


286 Lucile on the Heights 

sound ?” Lucile was incredulous as she leaned 
toward him in the firelight. 

“Nary a yip outa him,” Old Peter acquiesced, 
“thet is, not till the car begun ter move. Then he 
gasped out suthin’ an’ we shut off th’ exhaust to 
see what ’twas. Seemed ’twas jes’ his fiddle he 
forgot — yet I reckon thet thar wuz more than his 
life to the little shaver an’ he wuz tremblin’ like 
he had the chills an’ fever. 

“Waal, nothin’ would do but this feller here,” 
with a nod toward Jack, “must hike back an’ git 
th’ missin’ ar-ticle, spite o’ all the danger he wuz 
runnin’ into.” 

Everybody looked at Jack with new admiration 
but while Lucile felt proud she shivered at thought 
of that danger. Again she heard the mournful 
hoot of the owl far off in the depths of the forest. 

“Waal, right thar’s whar our trouble begun. 
Seems th’ young feller got the fiddle and was jes’ 
stealin’ away joyful when some animile instinct 
woke that great lout o’ a gypsy an’ he come stum- 
blin’ out, rubbin’ his eyes, jes’ in time ter see th’ 
young feller disappearin’. Then he raised such 


Around the Fire 287 

a shout as I never heered afore, suthin’ atween 
a screech an’ a roar. 

“Whar we wuz we heered th’ hullabaloo as 
nat’ rally the gypsy camp did too, an’ we wuz 
shure ’twas all up. 

“We grabbed our guns an’ wuz startin’ off ter 
help him when we see the young feller stumblin’ 
toward us, purty nigh spent, I kin tell ye, with 
the gypsy feller hard on his heels.” 

“Oh-h-h,” they breathed, and once more glanced 
apprehensively over their shoulders. 

“Th’ young feller would a made it all right, 
bein’ as good a runner as I ever see, but the fiddle 
caught on a low-hangin’ branch an’ wuz tore clean 
outa his hand. 

“We wuz yellin’ at him ter leave it lay, but like 
a pig-headed young scamp, he stooped to pick it 
up an’ with a roar th’ big gypsy sprung at him 
with a knife in his hand.” 

“Oh,” they cried again and Lucile cried, “Jack, 
why did you do it?” 

“He did it,” cried Phil, his eyes sparkling, 
“because there isn’t a yellow streak in him and 


288 Lucile on the Heights 

he was going to finish his job if his job finished 
him. Gee, it was great.” 

“Waal, it warn’t any fault o’ hisn he didn’t 
git finished,” the old trapper continued, dryly, “but 
seemed like the big gypsy warn’t reckonin’ on us, 
nohow. We’d been growlin’ at the moon all the 
way up, but now we wuz mighty glad to hev the 
light uv it. 

I slung old trusty here ter my shoulder an’ 
potted thet sledgehammer arm o’ hisn right above 
the wrist. It wuz jest in the nick o’ time, too, fur 
while he wuz cussin’ an’ swearin’ with the pain 
uv it the young feller had time ter duck an’ jine 
us in the car. 

“Waal,” he concluded, drawing deep puffs from 
his ugly black pipe, “I reckon thet thar ain’t much 
more ter tell ’ceptin’ the hull mob chased us 
roarin’ an’ cussin’ fur a quarter o’ a mile, more 
or less, then guv up an’ turned back. 

“Nuthin’ happened arter that till you all cum 
ter meet us in the road, an’ the rest yer all know 
without my tellin’.” 

They sat quite some time lost in meditatiox 


Around the Fire 


289 


while the fire had died down to a ruddy glow. 
Then suddenly Lucile spoke: 

“Mr. Wescott,” she said, “I just thought of 
something else you told us about the house that 
was always kept ready for the boy — if he should 
come home.” 

The others gazed at her in amazement for a 
moment. Then the light of understanding dawned 
in their faces. 

Phil sprang to his feet with a shout, startling 
the boy into full wakefulness. 

“Our mysterious stranger of the muddy foot- 
prints,” he cried irrepressibly, adding with one of 
his inimitable dramatic staggers: “And with the 
solution of the mystery staring us in the face, we 
never guessed it. Oh, ‘what fools we mortals 
be/ ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 

ON THE HEIGHTS 


Never had morning dawned so gloriously. The 
rain that had fallen overnight had restored to 
the trees and shrubs and flowers their gorgeous 
coloring, forming rainbow backgrounds for the 
myriad shimmering points of dew that lay upon 
them. The air was spicy with the odor of damp 
earth and perfumed flowers. Birds sang joyously 
and little woodland creatures scurried noiselessly 
here and there, happy in the new awakened splen- 
dor of their world. 

In spite of the late hours and the excitement 
of the night before, both camps were astir be- 
times, eagerly discussing the exciting drama that 
lay before them. 

“Did old Peter say positively he could find the 
old musician?” asked Marjorie, for exactly the 
eleventh time — she had asked it so many times, 
in fact, that everyone had ceased to notice it, and 


290 


On the Heights 291 

went on all chattering at once exactly as though 
she had not been speaking. 

For the first time since their arrival at camp 
Mr. and Mrs. Wescott had to fairly use force to 
get the girls and boys to eat breakfast. Even 
then there arose a heated discussion as to which 
side ought to have the little new arrival at their 
table — the girls holding that his rescue had been 
primarily their idea and the boys, with equal 
vigor, declaring that since the actual work of 
rescue had fallen to them and since the object of 
discussion was himself of the masculine gender 
he should most assuredly breakfast with them. 

The boys finally won the debate but as the de- 
feated party turned merrily away, Jessie sent one 
parting shot over her shoulder. 

“If the boy had been allowed to choose for 
himself/’ she laughed, “and had tasted just one 
of the meals you cook, there wouldn’t have been 
any doubt as to which one he would choose.” 

“Ours, of course,” sang back Phil, who seemed 
to be in as unquenchable mood as the morning 
itself, and Jessie merely shrugged her shoulders. 


292 Lucile on the Heights 

“Methinks,” said Lucile as they strolled along 
after the others, arms interlocked, “that you are 
going to have trouble with Phil ere the day is 
done.” 

“Goodness, I was hoping I had been mistaken,” 
said Jessie, ruefully. “But if you’ve noticed it 
too — oh, Lucy, dear, he’s begun telling me I don’t 
mean it again, and that’s an awful sign.” 

Lucile laughed happily, with a little care- free 
lilt in her voice that made Jessie look at her 
sharply. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve run away from Jack every 
time he’s come near you this morning,” she ac- 
cused, adding with a twinkle, “I don’t see how 
you can, either — he’s so unusually handsome to- 
day.” 

“That’s just why I do it,” Lucile answered, 
ruefully adding, with a little impulsive hug, “oh, 
Jessie, dear, if you want to keep me from being 
most terribly silly to-day, just keep close to me, 
that’s all.” 

“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” said Jessie, fondly. 

“Goodness, I hardly slept all night,” Evelyn 



They had pulled aside a great deal of intervening 
shrubbery. 





On the Heights 293 

was saying as they gathered around the breakfast 
table a few minutes later. “I kept having the 
most awful dreams about gypsies and caterpil- 
lars— ’’ 

“May I ask,” said Jessie, with the utmost po- 
liteness, “just what gypsies and caterpillars have 
in common?” 

“Well,” said Evelyn, considering, “they both 
live in the woods, don't they?” adding, in defiance 
of the general laugh, “anyway, they both make 
me creepy.” 

“Will you pass Evelyn another egg, Marj?” 
asked Jessie concernedly. “That may make the 
poor child feel better.” 

Marjorie amicably complied and Evelyn re- 
ceived the proffered egg with a drollery that 
added to the general mirth. 

“Goodness, if talking nonsense brings me this,” 
she said, breaking it open with great relish, “I’m 
not going to talk anything else.” 

“Take it back,” cried Jessie, wildly. “Oh, fool 
that I am to wish such a curse upon us — ” 

“I agree with the first part of your sentence,” 


294 Lucile on the Heights 

Evelyn replied, eating calmly on, “but the first 
only.” 

Jessie gave up and happily laughed with the 
rest at herself. 

“Oh, well,” she said resignedly, “what's one egg 
more or less, on a day like this? Pass me another 
one, Evelyn dear — one good act deserves another.” 

“You don’t deserve it,” said Evelyn, hesitating, 
then added with a resigned air, “but then if you 
only got what you deserved you’d never get any- 
thing — and I’d hate to see my worst enemy starve.” 

Jessie received it with an eagerness that made 
Mrs. Wescott laugh indulgently. 

“You girls used to say excitement took away 
your appetite,” she said, “but I haven’t noticed 
any lack of it this morning.” 

“Oh, well, when you’re at camp you’re always 
hungry,” said Marion, as though that explained 
everything. 

“The only thing I’m worrying about,” began 
Marjorie, for the eleventh time, when the girls, 
Jed by Lucile, broke in — 

“Suppose the musician doesn’t come — suppose 


On the Heights 295 

the musician doesn’t come,” until Marjorie, sur- 
prised at first, joined weakly in the laughter. 

“I didn’t suppose anybody heard me before,” 
she said. “You certainly didn’t seem to.” 

“That simply shows what good actors we are,” 
Lucile assured her demurely and they laughed 
anew. 

“What time did Old Peter promise to bring 
our musician?” Margaret asked, as they started 
to leave the table. 

“Why, he couldn’t promise,” their guardian an- 
swered, puckering her brows. “Our musician 
naturally doesn’t act according to rule but it 
seems he’s in the habit of playing for the children 
with the trick bear somewhere about this time 
and Old Peter thought he could locate him.” 

“Then it isn’t any more settled than that?” they 
cried in dismay, and Marion, struck by a dire 
thought, said suddenly, 

“Suppose he should come when we weren’t 
there?” 

With this they rushed eagerly into the open, 
glancing from right to left, but the space was 
deserted and they breathed freely once more. 


296 Lucile on the Heights 

“Lucy, dear, I feel so strange,” Jessie confided, 
as the two friends stood very close together, ex- 
pecting they scarcely knew what. “I don’t know 
how to explain it, but I seem to be trembling in- 
wardly all the time. I feel sort of, sort of— 
awed — ” 

Lucile laughed unsteadily — her face was flushed 
and her eyes black with suppressed emotion. 

“Jessie, dear,” she said, very softly, “don’t you 
suppose it’s because we sort of feel things being 
taken out of our hands? Up to this time we’ve 
been so busy doing things that we haven’t had 
time to feel — to feel — well, trembly, as you said. 
But now that we’ve done all we can and we’re 
just waiting for other people to do things — and 
we’re not quite sure what’s going to happen to us. 
That’s what makes us feel f-frightened — ” 

Jessie nodded, and her arm tightened spasmod- 
ically. 

“Oh, Lucy, dear,” she said quickly, breathlessly, 
“whatever happens — you and I — are going to be 
always friends — Lucy, dear — ” 

Lucile gave her a fierce little hug and whispered, 
more unsteadily than before, 


On the Heights 297’ 

“Don’t talk like that, Jessie, dear. Don’t you 
see I’m doing my best not to c-cry — ” 

Just then the boys came sauntering from their 
mess tent — it might be interesting to note the only 
thing the boys never sought to excel in was the 
eagerness with which they left their favorite meet- 
ing place! — bringing the little Italian lad with 
them. 

In the strong morning light, washed and well 
fed, the boy was remarkably beautiful and his 
great dark eyes seemed to mirror faithfully every 
thought and emotion of his heart. 

The boys and girls were so friendly, surround- 
ing him with such an irresistible atmosphere of 
happiness and affection, that his shyness and diffi- 
dence soon thawed and he even favored them with 
a faint little smile. 

That smile they regarded as a veritable triumph 
and beamed upon him with such happy good hu- 
mor, the girls beguiling him as only our girls in 
their present mood could beguile him, till the first 
wee smile was followed by another and still an- 
other till there was danger of them all becoming 
hilarious. 


298 Lucile on the Heights 

Then someone suggested that he play for them 
and Jack, who had disappeared a few moments 
before, produced the violin apparently from no- 
where and handed it to the little stranger. 

At sight of the beloved instrument, the boy’s 
face glowed, and he swung it unhesitatingly to 
position — then with a sweep of his great eyes 
round the circle, raised his bow and began to play. 

Softly the sweet strains stole out, wavering at 
first, uncertain, then mellowed, strengthened, filled 
the air with pulsing ecstasy, rose to heights of 
passionate entreaty, then broke sobbing into si- 
lence. 

The boy stood with drooping head and droop- 
ing figure, hands hung limply at his side, then, 
suddenly — it happened. 

Somewhere in the forest came an answering 
appeal, more passionate, more masterful, the en- 
treaty of a man who, hoping, dares not hope, 
praying, dares not pray — then — the musician stood 
before them. 

“My God!” 

With a crash the violin dropped to the ground 


On the Heights 299 

and he was on his knees beside the boy, fondling 
him, crushing him to his breast, murmuring en- 
dearments in Italian they could not understand. 

“Dios mio, Dios mio,” he cried, face to the sky, 
tears streaming from his eyes unchecked — 

Blindly the girls turned from the spot and 
stumbled away into the forest. It was too sa- 
cred, this meeting — father and son must be left 
alone. 

Lucile did not know how long she had stood 
with her head against the tree, with her little 
crumpled handkerchief crushed tightly in her 
hand. She only knew that, turning with a sigh, 
she saw Jack looking down upon her. 

Then at the look in his eyes panic seized her 
and she would have run away had he not checked 
her with a word. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

Something seemingly not of herself made her 
pause and she looked shyly up at him. 

“Well,” she said, demurely, “I — I’m here, Jack.” 

“Lucile,” his voice was husky and his hands 


300 Lucile on the Heights 

trembled as he held them out to her. "I’ve waited 
so long, dear — can’t you — won’t you — ” 

After several minutes during which it had not 
seemed necessary to speak, they were startled by 
a masculine cough and a very familiar feminine 
giggle and looking up saw Phil and Jessie beaming 
in upon them. They were on the other side of 
the great tree and had had to pull aside a great 
deal of intervening shrubbery and branches to gain 
an uninterrupted view. 

“From which I gather,” Phil grinned while Lu- 
cile flushed brightly, “that congratulations are in 
order. How about it, Jack, old man?” 

“Put back those bushes,” growled Jack, but 
Lucile, who had been receiving telegraphic mes- 
sages from Jessie, interposed. 

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her eyes dancing, 
“not till you’ve told me it’s true. Phil — Jessie — 
is it?” 

“How did you know?” Phil cried, with usual 
lack of insight of the male in such matters, but 
he was pushed aside with no consideration by Jes- 


On the Heights 301 

sie, who stretched out her arms to Lucile, crying, 

“Oh, Lucy, dear, come here — I’ve got to hug 
you.” 

“And this,” she added, just before Phil let 
fly the branches to their former position, “this,” 
with a radiant glance at Lucile and the thrill of 
triumph in her voice, “is the girl who once scoffed 
at romance.” 

“Did you?” asked Jack, accusingly, when they 
were once more alone. 

“Well,” she said, looking up at him whimsi- 
cally, “I wasn’t very much of a scoffer, even at 
first, and it didn’t last very long. I — I — got con- 
verted — ” 

“Lucile, Lucile,” he cried, catching her to him 
and raising his face to where the sun gleamed 
downward through the trees, “I’m happy — 
happy — happy !” 

The robin singing to his mate, the soft breeze 
whispering through the trees, the murmuring of 
the water as it swept on toward the sea, all sang 
in tune to one great potent word and that word — 
happiness ! 















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